Renaissance Of A Free Man
by Les Dowich
Summary: Book 3. SVW 2 has just finished but Severus is missing. And now the whole story is going missing. It rewrite time! Sorry guys, has to be done. No real changes until midway through the second part and the third part is finally finished except the epilogue. So, here we GO!
1. Chapter 1 - Catch a Death Eater By

As those who have been following and commenting on this story know, I ran into a huge writer's block compounded by illness. The original track I had been on seemed to peter out in the wilderness and go nowhere. For that I am sorry but there it is.

After my brain started working again, I decided to review and rewrite so that I could take the plot to a real ending. Anyway, apart from the rather lame epilogue I have now, it's all finished. The story is pretty much the same until the middle of the second part and from there it gets a little complicated in the third and final part.

It has all been reviewed by the best team of betas in the world, Zarathustra46 is my main story flow checker and the Wicked Bunjhny had a killer purple pen that tends to eliminate so many commas it is the king of the comma slayers. LOL!

**oo0oo**

**Prologue –_ Excerpts from Reconstruction of a Death Eater_**

Aurors, stooped around the battlefield, checked to make sure those lying down were actually dead, while the few left alive were quickly bound and a Portkey was placed on their chests. The Ministry had learned from the Death Eaters: Instant Portkeys that transported straight to the Prison of Azkaban where offenders could be held until trial dates were set.

Moving slowly through the blood-soaked field, Rufus Scrimgeour came upon a welcome sight: Severus Snape trying to get free of a dead snake. "Must be my lucky day," Scrimgeour commented, with a twisted sneer as he crouched down beside the spy and laid a piece of stone on his chest. "Finally, I get to put you where you belong, you filthy animal, and no one will ever know what happened to you!"

As Snape opened his mouth to protest, the Portkey activated and Scrimgeour gave a jaunty little wave before standing up and dusting off his knees, a smugly satisfied laugh breaking out.

"That was not very nice, Auror Scrimgeour," a cultured feminine voice from behind him said, and he whipped around, trying to bring his wand to bear. The beautiful blonde in the dramatic black outfit merely smiled at his futile efforts to defend himself as her lips shaped the fatal words. The world turned green for Rufus Scrimgeour, even as his mind protested the unfairness.

oo0oo

Severus was conscious of the darkness and the dank bedding under his cheek as his mind swam into consciousness. He also felt the cold creeping into his bones and brain. What the hell had happened? Nagini had rolled him up in her coils, while Pettigrew, the sneaky, filthy rat, came to hex him. Then Remus happened along and used his jaws to kill Nagini. How could Snape ever have thought Remus was… The pleasant thought was snatched away, replaced by the old vision of teeth, claws and snarling jaws, a frisson of terror crawling down his spine.

"What's happening to me?" he murmured aloud, slowly patting down his robes pockets, totally amazed to find his wand still in its sheath on his arm. Carefully drawing the slim rod, he cast _Lumos_ and immediately shrank back against the wall when he realised he was surrounded by Dementors, with more of the filthy creatures pushing into the small, damp cell by the minute. Cold, grave-like fingers of thought began to invade his soul and mind thoughts, scrabbling through his memories, seeking out their warmth and joy, what precious little there was.

Desperately, Severus tried to cast his Patronus, but his one small kernel of joy was gleefully eaten up in an instant. Horrified, Snape cast his strongest occlumentic wall, forcing the ghostly tendrils from thoughts. A mad sweep of his own memories gathered up all his treasured moments and bundled them roughly into a holding ball. Even as he cast the password on the ball, the Occlumency wall smashed and the Dementors snatched at the last remnant, stealing away the words and feelings that made Severus '_Severus'_; leaving only … Snape.

oo0oo

The Governor of Azkaban staggered in shock when the flaring of his Floo disgorged Professor Dumbledore, soot falling away as if incapable of besmirching his clothes or beard.

"S-Sir! Professor, I - I didn't… Please, come and have a seat! Can we bring you some tea? A footstool perhaps, or a glass of pumpkin juice?"

"Now, now, Percy, do settle down. I am very sorry to disturb you so unexpectedly, but I fear you have one of my professors stashed away in your cells, quite by accident, I'm sure," Dumbledore said congenially as he took the proffered seat in front of the desk and with a twinkling eye surveyed his former Head Boy.

Percy gaped like a landed fish. "Oh no, Sir! That sort of thing does not happen anymore! No one gets in here unless they come through me, I do assure you. My system is fool proof and organised, not like the usual haphazard way the previous administrators ran this place. We have a filing system and a lot of checks and balances in place to stop people being attacked indiscriminately or being lost in the system…"

"All the same, Percy, I believe one prisoner has slipped in unannounced," Dumbledore broke in gently over Percy's tirade, backed up by a flourish of Albus' arm at the neatly arranged folders around the walls. "We have evidence of an Azkaban Portkey being used on the battlefield where Severus was last seen."

"Sev… Professor Snape? You lost Professor Snape? Oh, well, he wouldn't trip any alarms. One sweep of his Dark Mark and he'd be immediately incarcerated," Percy said contemptuously, then quavered under the steely look the Headmaster had taken on.

"Your prejudice does you no credit, my boy, and does Severus a deep disservice after all the time and sacrifice he has made on behalf of our very tired and ailing world. Show me immediately where Severus would be."

"Sir, the Dementors…."

"Now!"

The dark and freezing cell looked empty at first glance, the Dementors passing it by without stopping, but Dumbledore increased the output of his _lumos_ spell and chased the shadows from the corners. A tiny huddle of black cloth was far too small to actually be such a tall man as Snape but nevertheless, Dumbledore insisted upon going in. Percy shook his head and sent in a guard to haul the unfortunate to the light, shocked when the filthy, stinking individual proved indeed to be Professor Snape, a thin and finely-drawn version of him with blood on his robes and empty darkness in his eyes.

"He's been stripped, Administrator," the guard said flatly, waving a hand in front of his face.

"Oh dear, this is… this is terrible! How did he get past my safeguards? Damn it! Now I'll have to review all the procedures again and send out another bloody hundred memos! Does no one read the procedural text these days? Honestly! How is a body supposed to keep everything documented if people don't follow the correct procedures?" Fussing and fuming, Percy stormed away, leaving Dumbledore to gently take Snape's shoulder and turn the battered body around, pointing him to the stairs as they walked together back up to the administration centre. The guard moved uneasily, but was not about to confront the great Albus Dumbledore over a prisoner who was really not supposed to be there in the first place. Especially a prisoner who had been stripped of all emotions by rogue Dementor action.

oo0oo

**Part 1**

**Chapter 01 – _Catch a Death Eater by the Toe_**

There was very little time to recover from Azkaban. The Ministry liked their pound of flesh and wanted the juiciest cut straight from the heart. While Floo-ing in to Azkaban was reasonably simple, the Floo connection was only one way. Although impatient, the Headmaster managed to appear gracious while waiting for the boat he had arranged beforehand to take them to the mainland. Getting Severus aboard the boat, however, was no easy matter, taking the combined effort of two crewmen and two guards as Severus began to struggle. All of Albus' gentle coaxing failed to reassure the traumatised man. Eventually, Albus cast _stupefy_ on his professor and the loading went more smoothly after that. The transport boat had barely finished the docking procedures when half a dozen Aurors appeared, wands drawn, and surrounded the small party. Furious, Albus tried to intervene but was firmly and relentlessly edged aside as a Portkey was pressed into the pale man's side and the Aurors vanished, with Severus held upright between them.

"Damn that Minister Clearwater! Damn him to the Pits!" Albus swore. It was so out of character that the boat crew blinked in surprise. Without waiting for the convenience of a Portkey, the Headmaster Disapparated.

**oo0oo**

Alastor Moody stared down at the bundle of rags and filth that was Severus Snape, then moved a fold of cloth away with the toe of his boot. He sighed as the eager circle of younger Aurors leaned forward as though smelling blood. "Kingsley," Moody bellowed, the dark man appearing in a few seconds. "Take Snape down to the cell blocks and clean him up! See if you can get him into any sort of shape to face the Wizengamot on Wednesday. He's still in battle robes so he might have a potion or two hidden on him, but take a field pack with you just in case. You, Brixton, and you, Duranes, pick him up! Oh for Merlin's sake; he's dirty, not dangerous!"

Shocked that the hard old former Auror had even asked for that much of a concession for one they deemed 'the enemy', the two named young men grasped a stick-thin arm each and hauled him upright. With Shacklebolt behind them, they were forced to use care as they manoeuvred Snape down to the cellblock and into the closest cell. They were still more shocked when Kingsley called for them to ease Snape down onto the cot and go fetch food upon leaving the cell.

The two young Aurors went into the corridor muttering imprecations on the prisoner's head, wondering if Snape had somehow managed to cast _imperio_ on the older Auror or if both the older Aurors were somehow other wizards under Polyjuice. Neither young man, however, dared say such things aloud in case they were wrong. Moody's wrath was legendary and no one wanted to court it.

"Bloody hell, Snape! You do get yourself into some predicaments," Kingsley muttered under his breath as he began to strip the filthy clothes off the stick thin figure, shaking his head at the numerous scars and open scabs littering the man's torso. "Looks like spying is as hard a game as being an Auror, humm? Okay, settle down, I'm not going to hurt you, just a _Scourgify;_ you stink, my man!" Murmuring reassuring nonsense, Kingsley managed to get the professor out of his filthy robes, cleaned, and into a standard prison uniform with a minimum of fuss.

The young trainees soon brought in a hot meal on a floating tray. As the weakened and shocked man was incapable of feeding himself, Kingsley took up the cutlery with a faint sigh and began to spoon the soup with all the skill of a man used to feeding a two-year-old. "Lupin must have had the patience of a saint," Kingsley remarked at one point, shaking his head as he vanished a dribble of soup away. "Had enough then? Alright. Lie down and try to sleep. I'm sure you're going to have a hard couple of days." Kingsley rose with another sigh and left the pale, thin man shaking and twitching on the cot.

**oo0oo**

The wizarding world was agog. A trial of the last Death Eater was to take place before the Wizengamot in the middle of the week. An open forum trial, which the public could attend! A national holiday was proclaimed as everyone wanted to be present and no one would be left to run the wizarding world.

Albus paced the Minister's office in a fine old temper. "How could you, Constantine? How could you treat one of the most constant and valiant fighters for the Light like this? Making a spectacle of him for no better reason than to give the public a vicarious thrill! Do you plan to take a leaf out of the ancient Roman Caesars' book and give the public bread and circuses in place of real governance?"

"Albus, please! Settle down. Look, I gave you your way over the trial of Draco Malfoy; I closed the court, and suppressed the proceedings. I have to give the public something to think about; something to hate and to show that justice has been done. All very publicly and above board. Damn it, Albus, you know the public temper! They want scapegoats and Severus Snape is the favourite scapegoat of all; well-known and universally hated by everyone."

"And so, you are simply going to give in to public pressure and openly crucify my boy to save your own skin?"

Constantine Clearwater tightened his lip and scowled angrily. "Yes, I am!" he snapped. "I have given in to your demands on far too many occasions, Albus; allowed you to dictate to the Ministry in too many matters. But this time I will not allow you to prevail. The trial date is set for Wednesday morning at nine am! Good day!"

"I _will _defend my boy!" Albus roared bitterly, as he exited.

"You do that, Albus, you just do that," Constantine muttered wearily, as he sank back into his seat.

**oo0oo**

"Right! On your feet, Snape," a voice snarled, a heavy hand hauling him upright. Without will, Severus was marched off to a brightly lit area and thrust stumbling toward the far wall. "Strip and shower," the guard snapped, stomping away.

The prisoner slid down into a crumpled heap as a second guard approached, once the other had departed. "Oh Merlin, Professor, you _are _a mess," the soft exclamation barely echoed in the empty, tiled space. "Come on, on your feet. Let's get you cleaned up."

Stripping him deftly, the young woman wrestled the long, skinny body under the hot water and washed him with ruthless efficiency, as if bathing a doll. His hair was washed with the minimum of fuss, the towel plied with equal vigour and the man was stuffed into clean, neat clothes that had been delivered from his home that morning. Pulling out a brush, she pulled his hair back and tied it at his neck to keep it out of his eyes before stepping behind him and pulling her wand. "Right; forward, march," she snarled, once again the ruthless, stern prison guard.

"Well, at least he looks and smells better," Auror Shacklebolt muttered as the prisoner came into sight. "Let's get him fed and watered, ready for his court début. Porridge, I think. It will buffer his stomach against the _Veritaserum_. There's no way he'll be allowed to testify without it. Oh are there going to be some very surprised people."

Auror Blair McGonagall blinked at her boss in curiosity. She had been asked to do what she could for Snape by her great Aunt who had a real soft spot for the grim prisoner she had bathed that morning. Her Aunt had even arranged for her to transfer to the Ministry on temporary assignment as a prison guard, effective Tuesday morning. She had been left in charge of Snape and had done her best to make him comfortable in the twenty-four hours granted to her. Hadn't been easy to keep her fellow officers away, a few exhibiting outright hatred that bordered on the pathological. Still, she had done her duty - and her duty to her aunt - and was reasonably happy with the result.

Kingsley chuckled. "Severus knows all the secrets of most of the people he comes into contact with every day. He educated their children, worked with the adults or spied upon them. And he never forgets a thing. Believe me, there are going to be some red faces out there before the day is through and I cannot wait to see the fireworks. My best advice to you, Auror McGonagall, is 'remain seated; it's going to be a bumpy ride!'" The two Aurors grinned maliciously at each other as they finished feeding the prisoner and escorted him to the holding area outside courtroom ten. This was the largest of the courtrooms and had been magically expanded to hold the expected crowd, then expanded again when the crowd exceeded expectations.

The Wizengamot was out in full force, taking up all their seats in the main arena. The guest gallery was completely choked with celebrity guests, including the famous Boy-Who-Lived, his fiancée Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger, the Gryffindor Lioness, and her husband the infamous Lord Draco Malfoy. Members of Snape's classes at Hogwarts were out in force, including various war heroes, and representatives of the Potions Makers fraternity. In the public gallery, the 'unwashed masses' milled and gossiped, a few enterprising entrepreneurs offering drinks and peanuts for sale.

"A bloody three ring circus, complete with clowns!" Minerva McGonagall muttered angrily as yet another scuffle broke out in the crowd below. "Poor Severus, he does hate to be the centre of attention. Can you see Rolanda anywhere, Filius?"

A disgruntled noise came from her left hip where the tiny Charms Master was being squashed against the partition that ran all around the gallery. "Funny girl," he grumbled and Minerva sniggered. There weren't many left who called her 'girl' any more.

"What a shambles," Draco hissed furiously, embracing Hermione's shoulders as someone pushed into them from behind. "They're all out for blood and they would tear him apart if they got the chance. Oh Merlin, hasn't he suffered enough?"

"Hush, love, hush. We've done everything we could on such short notice. You know that. Our legal department gathered as much evidence as they could, highlighting all of the things Severus has done for the greater good. Your grandfather's and father's diaries are conclusive proof Severus was not working for the Dark Lord all of the time."

"_If_ the diaries are read very carefully and selectively," Draco conceded grimly. "If the prosecution gets hold of them though, we are done!"

"Who is the Prosecuting Wizard?" Ginny asked, peering around Harry's rigid bulk to ask. Harry was not taking the crowds and noise at all well in his current blind state. Ginny was grateful that he couldn't see the pointed fingers, stares and gawping hoards. Only the fact that it was a guarded gallery stopped the rude public from swarming Harry, demanding autographs and asking prying questions.

"I don't know, and that's not for the want of asking, either," Draco replied sullenly. "It's possibly the best-held secret of this trial."

"Well, looks like we'll all know in a moment. I think they're about to start."

The members of the Wizengamot slowly filed in, gowns glowing in the light of the multiple torches set 'round the walls, and even overhead. One or two of the Court members had to be helped in by assistants, being well into their dotage and usually staying away from all proceedings. But this trial was too important to miss! Minister Constantine Clearwater followed them in, his purple robe trimmed with the black and white fur collar of his office, and the golden chain around his neck symbolising the gravity of his commitment to the people of the wizarding world. The Minister actually looked quite regal as he took his seat at the head of the courtroom.

Aurors filed in, red dress robes glowing like fresh blood in the torchlight as they took up guard positions all around the room between the crowd and the Floor where the huge chair with chains attached dominated the open space. Beside the chair sat a small table, empty at the moment but later would hold flasks of _Veritaserum_ to be used in the interrogation of the prisoner. Draco leaned across and muttered to Harry that he didn't see Shacklebolt or Moody in the line-up, omissions that seemed very ominous to the watching group of Snape Supporters. Finally, the scene was set and the officers of the court were doing their best to silence the crowd as the great clock in the centre of the Ministry struck nine.

Silence fell instantly as the double doors under the Wizengamot's box crashed open. Known as the Prisoner's Gate, it led to the holding cells and had seen the passage of many a vicious and dangerous felon, none more so than the man who was emerging at that moment. A pale face and equally pale hands were all that was visible in the darkness as everyone waited with breath to see this dangerous man stumble forward, humbled and humiliated. Yet he didn't. There was no sign of chains as Snape emerged, upright and unbowed, flanked by three Aurors: Shacklebolt, Proudfoot, who looked as if he had swallowed a lemon, and McGonagall bringing up the rear of the small procession.

There had been something of an altercation in the holding area when Shacklebolt refused to chain or bait the prisoner, Proudfoot growing quite angry until Shacklebolt had reminded Proudfoot who was the senior officer and who would obey the 'hands off' rule or suffer a broken nose and a court-martial, if he wasn't careful. Seething in fury, the Auror Sergeant bided his time, looking for an opening to hex or curse the prisoner but Shacklebolt was too good at his job monitoring the procession. The Aurors proceeded out onto the floor of the courtroom in a neat, orderly fashion.

In front of the chair, Severus executed a neat about-face in time with Shacklebolt, leaving Proudfoot to come about in a sloppy third, souring Proudfoot's mood still further. The members of the Wizengamot drew back slightly as the flat black eyes surveyed them from a bland, if not completely expressionless face. Kingsley took a step forward and announced the arrival of the prisoner as ritual demanded, then stepped back awaiting the next developments.

Minister Clearwater stood up to address the court. "The accused, Severus Snape, is brought before this court to answer to the charges of being a Death Eater, causing death to fellow witches and wizards, of practicing dark magic, and casting Unforgivable curses on members of the public. The Defence enters a plea of 'Not Guilty due to Extenuating Circumstances' and the Prosecution will endeavour to refute that plea. Council for the Defence is Albus Dumbledore assisted by Julius Podmore QC and Artimus Diopoles WQC. Council for the Prosecution is Madam Anuya Susan Bones WQC, assisted by Magnus Scrimgeour WQC and Peyton Williamson QC. Due to the nature of this trial, a seventh officer will be appointed and be present to administer the _Veritaserum_ and assure that the serum is working fully. The Wizengamot appoints as Chief Interrogator, Auror Inspector Alastor Moody, Retired."

There was an outcry of mixed horror and pleasure as the old Auror stumped out, his scarred face twisted, his magical eye swirling all around the room. In the public gallery a wave of fear swept over the populace as the name of Mad-Eye Moody was infamous and synonymous with terror. All felt that this last Death Eater would finally get 'his' now. In the private gallery the reaction was more mixed, not quite sure if the appointment of Moody was a good or a bad move for their case. Harry's head rose suddenly, a twisted little smile gracing his lips, echoing Moody's ironic sneer as he heard the last announcement. The trial had suddenly become way more interesting to him.

**oo0oo**


	2. Chapter 2 - If He Squeals

**Disclaimer:** JK Rowling owns the characters but I have made them dance this time. No money made, no gratuities accepted except the reviews of my peers, for which I thank you.

I always answer my reviewers if they leave a name and I am always happy to chat with them over PM. Huge thanks and a great deal of gratitude as you are the reason I managed to get out of the mud and get going again.

If you have a flame to send, I suggest you do a spell check, the last couple look like they were written by a drunken kindergartener, sorry.

Another huge thanks to my BEsT betas Zarathustra46 and the Wicked Bunjhny who make this lot legible and grammatically sane.

**oo0oo**

**Chapter 02 – _If He Squeals…_**

_Monday afternoon, pre-trial._

"Minister, Auror Moody is here to see you," his secretary announced, and Clearwater waved the old Auror in. Moody took the seat offered and accepted a cup of tea, all the while looking about warily, his magical eye spinning around in his head like a demented snitch. When the old wizard was as comfortable as Constantine could make him, the Minister coughed slightly. The Minister froze as the Auror suddenly dropped his cup and drew his wand in one blurred motion. _Ye Gads, the man was a nightmare_, the Minister thought. "Auror Moody, please! Relax! I've only brought you here for a little chat, not a disciplinary action."

"Humm," Moody temporised, banishing the tea stains and conjuring up another cup. "Alright… to what do I owe this 'little chat' then, Minister?" Moody inquired cautiously.

"You are aware that we have Severus Snape, the last of the Death Eaters, in custody as we speak?"

"I am so aware; I put the poor bugger in his cell not an hour ago, as your owl requested, and a right mess the Dementors have made of him, too. Something of a human Dementor himself is young Snape, but he didn't deserve that."

"I see. Auror Moody… Alastor, I'd like you to be the Chief Interrogator at the trial on Wednesday; administer the _Veritaserum,_ and ask the questions."

Alastor gaped at the man, spluttering and coughing as a mouthful of tea went down the wrong way. "_Me_? You must be joking! Why me?"

"Because you are a horrible old man," Constantine muttered, then blushed vividly when the old Auror laughed aloud. The Minister hadn't realised his comment was made audibly. "Sorry. Look, let me be brutally honest with you, Alastor. The Ministry is in a shambles; key personnel are dead or missing, no one knows who they can trust or who had affiliations with the Death Eaters. Our one '_key'_ to this Gorgonian Knot is a brain-blasted Potions Master with the personality of a sidewinder and the temperament of a dragon guarding a clutch of eggs! I'm betting my Ministry on the fact that Severus Snape has more dirt on more people than any ten other wizards left alive! He knows where the bodies are buried and who has blood on their hands. If Severus goes on trial, a lot of people will be shaking in their boots or fleeing the country, if they can. Simply by telling the truth, _demonstrably_ the truth, Severus Snape will clean out this administration for a long time to come. The only way to accomplish that is by public trial. Oh yes, Albus wants all the due process behind closed doors, under wraps and kept close. He even accused me of using 'Bread and Circuses' to keep my administration alive. But keeping this trial quiet would not serve the purpose of clearing the air. There would always be a taint of the cover-up hanging over the proceedings. Eventually, little patches of Darkness would spread like a cancer once again and soon we'd see the rise of another Tom Riddle."

"Yes, yes, I understand all of that, but again, why me? Why do I have to interrogate the man? Can't someone else be called upon?" Alastor demanded, deploring the whine that crept into his voice. "I'm tired, Minister Clearwater. Old and bone tired. I have not been an Auror for over two years and I planned to hand in my honorary commission after this year. I want to go off and plant some potatoes and lettuces and stuff, pretend to be an old man and all."

"You'd be bored to death in a few weeks," Constantine dismissed in amusement.

"Perhaps I would be, but for the third time, why _me_?"

"Because you are the _best_. You have the reputation of hating Death Eaters and Dark wizards, you've spent a lifetime hunting them down and catching them, dragging them back kicking and screaming, or at least bleeding profusely, to face justice. You are seen by many to be incorruptible and the best at what you do. Anything you get out of Snape will be the _Honest-to-Merlin Truth_, without a doubt."

Chewing his lip thoughtfully, Alastor stared at the ceiling, deep in thought. "You do realise that I don't consider Snape to be my enemy. Don't you? I've worked with Severus for a number of years and have established a working relationship with him that is quite satisfactory. He's the consummate professional; I realised that a long time ago. And I quite admire his sheer gall. Not many men could look a Dark Lord in the eye and convincingly lie year after year, which brings us to another consideration. Snape's a Master Legilimens, a Master Occlumens, and he's pretty much immune to _Veritaserum_, you know?"

"Yes, I do. I also know you brew your own _Veritaserum _potion, the strongest in the world, isn't it? Or that's what the gossip says; a special batch used on Aurors when they need to testify, or be questioned, under the potion."

"True, true, but still, the man can circumvent it, quite handily really, and he gets playful too, tells the absolute truth with enough venom to make your hair curl! Snape's a nasty piece of work," Alastor reminisced cheerfully. "You wouldn't think he had a sense of humour until you get him liquored up, then he and Minerva McGonagall are a bloody riot, er… well." He coughed in embarrassment and straightened in his chair. "So, you want me to get as much as possible and you don't care who gets caught in the fall-out. You want '_The Truth_' - with capital letters, in italics - to be demonstrated before the entire world and his uncle. You do know what they say, Minister, 'be careful what you wish for; you might get it'."

"So be it. Will you do it?"

"I will, I will indeed."

**oo0oo**

Sitting in his room at Hogwarts, Alastor contemplated the desk before him. On his left was a tea service, a half-emptied plate of Fig Newtons. On his right were a number of potions bottles, small, blue crystal bottles of a very distinctive size and shape. _Veritaserum_ was a restricted substance. By law having six bottles in your possession was an offence punishable by a term in Azkaban Prison. However, Alastor had always been the exception to the rule, especially as he had helped write a lot of the rules the Ministry worked under.

Using great care, as it was an expensive and complicated potion, the old man tipped about a third out of each bottle into a larger decanter and sealed it carefully. Once the plain bottle was secured, he put it aside and picked up a small bag of white powder, carefully dropping a one-gram spoonful into each of the opened vials. Lastly, he refilled the vials from yet another bottle of plain brown liquid and closed them back up with his own personal seal. This was his special mix, his special _Veritaserum_. He knew very well that a Potions Master would be able to tell exactly what his secret ingredient was, or at least he hoped one particular Potions Master could. After all, Severus had demonstrated a remarkable capacity for identifying ingredients by taste and smell alone in the past.

Once his task was completed, Moody pulled out his small dragon-hide bound notebook and began jotting down questions and lines of questioning he wanted to pursue in the soon-to-be infamous interrogation he was to partake of the following day. He dearly hoped Constantine knew what can of worms was about to be opened when the Minister asked that the contents of Severus Snape's head be investigated.

Satisfied that he could do no more, the old man made sure his most suitable Auror's robes were smelly, crumpled and ready for the show. He planned to wear his old working robes, torn, stained and mended in a hundred different places with a scorch-mark over one shoulder and acid holes splayed over the back. He had a feeling that a few witnesses in the audience would recognise the robes and feel the terror of having him breathing in their faces as they were asked pointed and hard-to-answer questions about their past activities. Oh yes, the show would go on and he would be the best ringmaster they had ever had!

**oo0oo**

"Lord Snape goes to trial tomorrow, according to the _Daily __Prophet_. Are we representing him?" The senior partner of Japhett, Montcreiff and Balmholmn, one of the oldest wizarding law firms in the British Isles, asked of Balmholmn the younger, in the desiccated tones of a preserved mummy only animated by Egyptian magical artefacts.

"No, Sir, he hasn't asked for a Defence Council. One assumes Albus Dumbledore will be the Defence Attorney," the Junior Partner replied deferentially, with a deep bow toward the sarcophagus set upright in the main suite of offices. He wondered where the old man managed to get his information from, often knowing facts before they were published or even hinted at in the corporeal world.

"Prepare a brief and be ready to Floo at a moment's notice," the mummy murmured distantly, bandaged eyes contemplating the age-darkened ceiling.

"Certainly, Sir." The elderly Wizarding Queen's Council bowed again and went to organise the brief. He paused momentarily, then shook his head. Being a junior member of staff at the age of one hundred and six would be unacceptable anywhere except here where the eldest member of staff was over two thousand years old and not slated to fully pass on, _ever_. Still, it was a very prestigious position and Avelius Balmholmn was quite pleased with his place in the wizarding world.

**oo0oo**

"Professor Snape is on trial tomorrow? How can they do that to him?" Lavender Brown-Crabbe exclaimed in high, anxious tones, snapping the _Daily Prophet_ straight with a glare sharp enough to ignite the paper minus a spell. "And a public trial, too! How dare they! They're making a spectacle of a very private man; disrespectful, shameful, rude, uncouth... A public disgrace! How dare they!"

Vincent Crabbe, husband of two weeks and very proud of his wife, blinked slowly, not entirely sure if he was the target or the contents of the paper that was now being balled up and pelted into the fireplace, one sheet at a time. "Not fair, at all. We had better go and make sure he's okay."

"Good thought," Lavender agreed, bending to kiss his cheek. "You have those splendid blue robes and the navy suit, and perhaps that lovely silvery shirt. I'll wear my navy blue dress with the silver trim and that darling lapis lazuli necklace you bought me for our honeymoon. Humm, I wonder if we can hex the prosecution. Do you remember that really neat spell Hermione taught us when the Carrows were nosing around? I wonder if we could get away with it."

Vincent chuckled and nodded quietly, a soft, understanding smile curving his lips. He might be Slytherin but Lavender was pure Gryffindor and as brave as anyone in the Lion House. A little unworldly perhaps, but his job was to keep her safe, even from herself.

**oo0oo**

"You have two choices at this point: give in gracefully or end up in a full body bind!"The words were harsh, the expression harder, as the Boy-Who-Lived gave his ultimatum.

"Now, now, don't upset yourself, my dear, dear boy; the world can get along very nicely without you for just this once. After all, no one would expect you to perform even more heroics in your condition," the healer said teasingly, while shaking her finger even though the patient could not see her. She jumped in fright as every piece of glass in the room exploded.

"That's it! I am sick and tired of your condescending tone and 'oh-so-superior' attitude! Shove it!" Harry Potter roared furiously. He wandlessly _Accioed_ his wand and Disapparated from his hospital room in St Mungo's, a feat that was supposed to be impossible.

Landing awkwardly, Harry winced when his carpet slippers lost traction and his ankle gave away. As he landed on his backside on the gravel that had betrayed his footing, his breath woofed out of him. He froze as cold water seeped through the thin cotton gown he wore. It was an almost automatic reaction to cast _lumos,_ then he moaned when he remembered he would not be relieving the darkness any time soon. Chucking a tantrum seemed like a good idea on the spur of the moment, but now he had no idea of where he was.

About to despair, he suddenly blinked and stiffened when a voice demanded to know who the hell was out there at this time of night. "Ginny?" he questioned, when he realised the voice and tone were familiar.

"Who… Harry? Is that you? Oh, good grief, what are you doing out there half naked?" Ginny demanded, her voice coming closer, and then a warm hand settled on his arm then her delightful personal 'smell' enveloped his senses and he knew he was safe.

"Making an utter fool of myself, I suppose," Harry replied grumpily as he allowed her to pull him to his feet, then limped along beside her to the house. Obviously, he had unconsciously Apparated to the Burrow, his home away from home.

Molly made a vague comment as Ginny sat him at the kitchen table and hurried off to find a warm robe of Ron's to wrap around him. A cup of tea and some hot buttered toast made Harry feel much better and, in recovering his temper, he remembered why he had lost it in the first place.

"They're putting Severus on trial tomorrow morning; I heard one of the Medi-wizards flapping his gums about it in the hallway this afternoon. I tried to get them to Floo call the Headmaster and make sure he knew about it, but they began treating me like a simpleton and I guess I just lost it! I'm blind, not frigging stupid!"

"Language, Harry," Molly rebuked half-heartedly, as she spelled his twisted ankle better and found a sprains potion in the family first aid kit.

"Sorry," he muttered, mutinously feeling Ginny squeeze his biceps in commiseration.

"Albus knows all about it and he is not happy, believe me," Molly told the young man softly as she straightened and sighed. "Ginny can take you to the trial tomorrow; I'm sure she'll look after you properly."

"'Course I will," Ginny averred, giving her fiancé another comforting hug. "You'll stay in Ron's room tonight, right? And we'll Floo in tomorrow."

**oo0oo**

The Boulevard was wide and white where it joined to Diagon Alley. Playhouses, top quality restaurants, and snug little bistros lined the brightly lit expanse. As the long road wound away from Diagon Alley, the character of the businesses changed; the bistros became bars and the playhouses strip joints, the exclusive shops became purveyors of dubious merchandise, and the clientele were rather more careful to keep their hoods up. Where the Boulevard, now more of a back street, joined to Knockturn Alley, it was a rat-infested, ill-lit row of bars and potions houses, Apothecaries dealing in illegal ingredients, and whorehouses selling kinky sex.

A well-dressed wizard slunk into one of the dirty shop fronts, its wares hard to decipher at a glance. The man glanced around furtively before sliding into the gloom and scurrying over to the counter at the far side of the shop. "Do you have it?" he muttered out of the side of his mouth, his voice a mere wisp of sound in the cloying darkness.

Something stirred and creaked in the darkness before a gnarled hand placed a very odd set of six translucent rings on the counter top, each joined together in three rows of two. The material was odd, with a greasy feel to the slick flatness. "Takes two adults, two kids, and some luggage to the Americas. To activate it, just say '_America Ho, Portus_'," a cracked and croaking voice muttered from out of the moving shadows.

The man took the illegal Portkey and dropped a purse containing one thousand galleons onto the splintery wooden counter. It was a very expensive Portkey, but getting caught would be even more costly. If Snape was forced to take _Veritaserum,_ then the man's and his shady associates' gooses were well and truly cooked. Better to spend some of the bribe moneys on a Portkey to freedom, than keep it all and end up trying to spend it in Azkaban Prison.

The door closed behind him as the shopkeeper laughed a short, sharp bark of laughter containing absolutely no mirth. He straightened his back and pushed his hood up a bit before turning to the others hidden in the shadow.

"That's Beamish taken care of. Even if Snape manages to name him, he will not be pulled in to face _Veritaserum_. No truth serum, no squealing on us," the man gloated.

The group of five behind him nodded agreement until one of the furthest figures pointedly cleared his throat. "We still need to silence Snape if we can. Any thoughts?"

"He's in the holding cells at the Ministry, being guarded by more than enough Aurors who hate Death Eaters with a passion. I am very sure we can manipulate one or another to deal with him. After all, we're all aware of the value of a well-placed _Imperius_, are we not?"

Again there was a murmur of agreement as the small group began to disperse, slipping away into the night undetected.

**oo0oo**


	3. Chapter 3 - Can of Worms

**Disclaimer:** JK Rowling owns the characters but I have made them dance this time. No money made, no gratuities accepted except the reviews of my peers, for which I thank you.

I always answer my reviewers if they leave a name and I am always happy to chat with them over PM. Huge thanks and a great deal of gratitude as you are the reason I managed to get out of the mud and get going again.

If you have a flame to send, I suggest you do a spell check, the last couple look like they were written by a drunken kindergartener, sorry.

Another huge thanks to my BEsT betas Zarathustra46 and the Wicked Bunjhny who make this lot legible and grammatically sane.

**oo0oo**

**Chapter 03 – _Cans of Worms_**

When Snape turned to seat himself, it was not quite his patented swirl of robes, but it was enough to send a shiver down many a back. As he sat in the prisoner's chair, the arm cuffs snapped around his wrists but only the left one tightened painfully. The right cuff, main chains, and restraints shivered and lifted away from the man's flesh, then fell limply to the floor much to the consternation of the Wizengamot who looked about in shock.

"Who has interfered with the Prisoner's Chains?" Minister Clearwater roared furiously, glaring around impartially at his fellow members and the crowd.

"The chains are set to automatically ensnare the guilty," the Defence Counsel offered smugly. "No one can interfere with them."

Clearwater snarled at Dumbledore, the Chief Defence Counsel, across the expanse of the courtroom floor but there was no magic emanating from the eminent wizard, just self-satisfaction. In the gallery, a certain pair of Gryffindors exchanged grimly pleased looks as their friend/ boyfriend simply destroyed an evil bit of ancient magic with a mere thought. The green eyes might no longer flash like fire but the temper was still fully functional and his wandless magic more potent than ever, if carefully directed.

Alastor merely grunted and stepped forward, selecting the first of the bottles on the tray he had placed beside the prisoner. Moody held it up for the court officers to see when directed, then carefully split the seal before turning to the prisoner. Usually the magical bands forced the prisoner's head back and mouth open but Snape was merely staring at him with a flat black gaze holding nothing but emptiness.

"Cooperation, or the thumb?" Moody asked, showing a rather battered and scarred digit with an evil grin.

After a second, Snape put his head back against the wooden headrest and voluntarily opened his mouth to receive the requisite three drops of _Veritaserum_, administered with skill. When a fourth drop fell in, Moody muttered 'one for luck' and the crowd hissed a little as they all knew four drops was far too much. Snape glared then blinked, a hint of curiosity flashing through his eyes before they took on the glazed look of a _Veritaserum _dosed prisoner.

"The prisoner is ready to answer the court's questions," Moody nodded sagely, stepping back and folding his arms over his chest.

The Prosecution proffered a scrap of parchment with a few chicken scratches on it. Moody sighed before beginning the long line of questions he was going to have to ask. "What is your name?"

"Severus Snape."

"What is your occupation?"

"Potions Master."

"Are you qualified?"

"Yes."

"Did you fight in the last war?"

"Duh! Yes."

Alastor smiled slightly as the subject began to warm up. "What was your position?"

"Which side?"

There was a low buzz around the room as Alastor grinned, his scarred face wrinkling in unexpected ways. Now the fun would begin. "Which was your first side and when did you join?"

"I suppose I was on Tom's side at first. He did save my life when my father almost killed me."

"Is that why you took the Dark Mark, because he saved your life?"

"It seemed logical."

"And so you became a Death Eater. At what age?"

"I… Define Death Eater."

There was an exasperated sigh from the prosecution and a snigger from the gallery as Alastor rolled his magical eye. "A Death Eater is a follower of Lord Voldemort who goes around terrorising Wizards and Muggles alike, killing and raping, and pillaging innocent villagers, and destroying anyone who does not agree with their ideas," the old Auror snapped, long-held anger colouring his speech.

"Never."

"Never… what?"

"I was never a Death Eater."

A furious roar blasted through the court as outraged citizens vented their fury and members of the Wizengamot added their voices to the cacophony. Shaking his head, Alastor bent forward and muttered. "Bloody hell, Snape, you really know how to truly put the cat amongst the pigeons."

"Ah yes, truth, what a slippery concept. Be careful Alastor, you tread a shaky line," the prisoner muttered back with an evil smirk. "_Veritaserum_, Scotch whiskey and wormwood powder, not exactly unadulterated, humm?"

Before Alastor could reply, the court was brought to order with threats of clearing the gallery. After the room settled down, the Minister motioned for Moody to continue. Alastor gave Snape another drop of _Veritaserum_ to be sure he was still under the influence and asked him to expand on his last statement.

"I did not follow Lord Voldemort. I participated in a couple of political rallies and one raid which failed to gain its objective, but never in the 'fun runs' that so delighted Bella and her charming pack of bloodhounds. Terrorising and torturing people seemed rather a waste of time to me, no real gains. How can you change someone's mind if they are dead or driven mad with pain; pointless, really. As for rape, not in this lifetime, thank you, unless…"

Alastor put in hastily, "You have a Dark Mark and yet you say you did not follow Lord Voldemort. Explain!"

"I promised to support the real man I knew as Tom Riddle in return for my life. When Tom Riddle, the man I respected, became no more than Lord Voldemort the construct in my mind, I ceased to love or cherish him. Thus I was never a supporter of Lord Voldemort; merely a very well placed spy." Snape sighed deeply. "You know, if I had known what a nuisance Tom would become, I would never have saved his life. Prophesising, what a hit and miss affair that is!"

Alastor snorted at the utter disgust in Snape's voice under the rumble of comment his last words evoked. "And when did Tom morph into Lord Voldemort?"

"When he began trying demon raising and nearly failed to send the creature back to where it belonged."

Screams and shouts of utter terror nearly lifted the roof. The threat of demon raising made the general wizarding population shudder in horror. The prosecution turned white and even Alastor stepped back in surprise with dawning realisation. This was a very dangerous line of questioning. "And is that why you changed sides?"

"No. Someone had to keep an eye on him and make sure he didn't try anything so stupid again. Demon raising is a fool's game and Tom did not have the respect for the dangers he was playing with, nor the training to do anything like that safely."

"Why did you change sides?"

"Lord Voldemort sought out a teacher to train him in the art of Demon raising. The price of that training was to be my soul to the demon and my body to his teacher. Naturally, I objected rather strenuously."

"What did you do?"

"I made a deal with Albus Dumbledore. I was to continue to keep Tom in check until he could be dealt with properly. I would pass along information and generally keep the Toasted Turkeys informed of Tom's plans and objectives."

Alastor glared and leaned in. "Have a little respect for the Order there, Snape," he muttered before straightening and raising his voice to a normal speaking level to pose the next question. "You became a spy?"

"Yes."

"How many people have you killed with your own hands?"

"Two."

"Who were they?"

"Abraxas Malfoy and Luton Standish."

Again there was a mutter throughout the Wizengamot at the last name and Alastor frowned deeply. This was not an expected answer. "Why did you kill Malfoy?"

"He had Perryander's Disease and the potions were no longer effective. He was dying in agony and I had promised to make sure his suffering was over as swiftly as possible, so I smothered him with the spell that the Medi-wizards use to ease dying patients."

"A mercy killing then. And Luton Standish? He was a respected member of the Wizengamot and of the community in general. Why kill him?"

"He was a paedophile," Snape said with comfortable conviction.

Immediately the courtroom exploded into cacophony, cries of outrage echoing as people rose to try and defend the good name of the philanthropist who had done so much for the children in their community.

"Explain!" Alastor snapped out after having acceded to the calls for more _Veritaserum_ from the Wizengamot, not that more was needed. A hefty six drops were given this time, more than enough to poison a normal man but Snape was a Potions Master and had a certain level of immunity to various ingredients. Even so, it was a life-threatening dose, but this was no time for fun and political manoeuvrings.

"Standish and his little gang of five were paedophiles, preying on the children they so carefully saved from the big bad Death Eaters. If there was a particular child he fancied, like the Montague girl, then Standish would arrange for a raid to destroy the family and leave the child orphaned, thus available to be picked up and used as he saw fit. Of course, Standish stepped over the line with Albina Montague, her father being a Death Eater, and Tom asked me to deal with the problem, so I did."

Again the courtroom exploded into cries of terror, horror and disbelief, one or two of the audience in the gallery almost jumping onto the courtroom floor to physically attack the man saying such terrible things about one of their own officials. A mighty crack of stone on stone sent a thunderous crash through the arena as the head of the Wizengamot brought down his gavel to regain order, the magically enhanced crash physically forcing people to take their seats once more and pinning the more unruly ones down. "Can you name names?" Minister Clearwater asked, jumping the chain of questioners who were demanding a hearing.

"Luton and his brother, Graff Standish, Markus Prussi, Bathilda Morgan and Giles Beamish."

A flick of a wand sent Aurors scurrying off to arrest those named while Alastor stood back and reassessed the man in front of him. Snape looked awfully pale and sweaty. Alastor signalled that it was time to stop. Minister Clearwater called for a recess and had the prisoner marched out under even heavier guard than even he had been marched in to the chamber. The Minister had been warned that he was opening a can of worms but he'd no idea what was going to crawl out. To learn that people he had trusted, people he had even had in his home and around _his own children_ were, were… It was unbelievable! The Minister determined he would know the truth of the accusations as quickly as possible!

**oo0oo**

Moira Beamish stared at her husband in something akin to shock. "A transfer to America? Now? But, but the children, their schools… Why now?"

"Woman, either pack or don't, but we leave in ten minutes, do you hear me?"

Huffing furiously, Moira flicked her wand and caused the bare necessities to pack themselves into a trunk. The baby was quickly dressed in warm clothes and four-year old Sandria pulled on her winter cloak with a giggle of excitement. In less than the commanded ten minutes, the family held onto the Portkey and Giles Beamish tapped it with his wand. "_America Ho, portus_." He intoned as the Portkey activated with a scream of power.

'_Now let the Ministry try and catch me,_' he thought with conceit, before the swirling mist tore him and his family away.

**oo0oo**

In the privacy of the holding room behind the Prisoner's Door, Severus Snape continued to answer questions put to him by Alastor and the Minister's personal secretary, once the woman had been cleared by Snape's own brand of truth. Names ranging from Unspeakables to Aurors, clerks to Under-Ministers, were given up, along with a complete description of their activities and what they had done or not to support the Dark Lord. Teams of Aurors were pulled off court duty and sent scurrying out to grab the named citizens and drag them back. The number of marked Death Eaters who had not even been suspected was horrifying. By midafternoon the contamination in the Ministry and its bureaucracy had been mostly excised with the holding cells full to overflowing.

Minister Clearwater himself came down to confer with the Aurors and shake his head in shock. "How could we have not known?"

"Tom Riddle began his rise to power more than forty years ago. While he was yet out of his body his organisation still flourished in a quiet and hidden way. Had a long time to mature and grow tentacles into most every aspect of our lives," Shacklebolt muttered, shaking his head as Snape finally began to droop under the burden of sheer exhaustion.

"Snape is going to have to finish his trial, you know?" Constantine murmured as the former Death Eater was force-fed some Pepper-up Potion followed by a water chaser and finally a plate of what looked like thick porridge.

Shacklebolt turned to watch as his fellow Auror, McGonagall, ministered to the prisoner, a sigh of resignation breaking out. "Snape is one of the good guys, you realise?" the man said grimly. "Certainly not one of the _nice_ guys, but a Light fighter all the same."

"I know, I know, as hard as it is to believe. He just looks the part of the villain, doesn't he? All black and greasy and grim with a nasty temper."

"And Lucius looked like an angel, all fair and blond and sweetly spoken…" Alastor Moody reminded them harshly, "…while a complete bastard. When are we, as a society, going to get over that bloody stereotyping habit we have?" A number of Aurors around the room rolled their eyes in resignation as Alastor began to mount his hobbyhorse.

"We look for constants when most of our world is… not solid... always shifting and changing," Snape said dreamily, eyes unfocussed. "Magic makes most things not what they seem; therefore, we latch onto a racial memory and hope to fit all into the mould. Salazar Slytherin was bad, dark and plain looking, therefore all dark, plain people had a chance to be bad. Godric Gryffindor was blond and therefore all blond people are most likely good. By the way, your _Veritaserum_ is most effective, Moody. I've been working on a variant that is even more effective; we'll have to compare notes some time," Snape muttered in a daze.

Alastor sniggered at the dumbfounded looks on the faces around him. "What? You thought he didn't have a theory? He's a Slytherin; they always have theories. How are we going to proceed now?"

"We proceed as planned," Minister Clearwater commanded. "I want Snape to publicly and loudly state the course of the war and his part in it. I want my Ministry cleansed and disinfected so that we can go forward with at least a chance of being a wholesome society again."

"Not going to happen," Severus said unconcernedly. "You cannot have light without shadow, and you can't have good without evil. Nature is about balance. Nature will always strive to find it. Without balance you get Dark Lords and Light Lords and quite frankly, it is getting very hard to tell the difference between them from the history books. Nature is grey."

A deep shudder ran around the room as the softly spoken words seemed to burn in the air long after the voice fell silent.

Shaking his head finally, Clearwater sighed. "Very well, we will strive for balance and see how we progress from there."

**oo0oo**


	4. Chapter 4 - Airing Home Truths

**Disclaimer:** JK Rowling owns the characters but I have made them dance this time. No money made, no gratuities accepted except the reviews of my peers, for which I thank you.

I always answer my reviewers if they leave a name and I am always happy to chat with them over PM. Huge thanks and a great deal of gratitude as you are the reason I managed to get out of the mud and get going again.

If you have a flame to send, I suggest you do a spell check, the last couple look like they were written by a drunken kindergartener.

Another huge thanks to my BeST betas Zarathustra46 and the Wicked Bunjhny who make this lot legible and grammatically sane.

**oo0oo**

**Chapter 04 – _Airing Home Truths_**

The trial continued on Thursday morning, with Snape taking the stand and looking a lot worse for wear as he opened his mouth once more to accept the _Veritaserum_. As agreed, Alastor Moody asked about the events leading up to the killing of the Potters and the end of Voldemort.

Severus sighed. "There were three families that filled the prophetic criteria and even capturing a Seer did not illuminate the target, so Tom decided to take all three boys out of the picture. The Bowater child was born on the twenty-ninth of July and Tom sent Fenrir Greyback after him. Greyback turned the boy and left a changeling in his place. Unfortunately, Greyback also lost the child so I hold out no hope for the lad's survival in winter in central England. The Potters were the next in line and we all know how that ended. The Longbottoms were the outside chance and Bellatrix went after them with her husband and hangers-on in a bid to try and bring Tom back after his run-in with the Potter brat."

"You were captured at the Longbottom home. How did you get there, and why were you there?"

"I made an agreement with Albus Dumbledore when I consented to spy for him. _Dharicz caz, to venture's end_ [STY] a very old promise which I have kept, even when the end proved not to be until a couple of weeks ago. When the Potters died, we were all in shock but then I remembered two salient facts. Tom wanted the Longbottoms killed and the Lestranges had not been captured in the wake of the Godric's Hollow fiasco. I almost managed to spirit Neville Longbottom away, but then that little arse licker Barty Crouch caught me. I was in the process of hexing him when you and your Aurors turned up and took us both out. Nice spell-work but really, not recommended when one has an armful of baby, Alastor. I'm sure the boy caught a touch of some dark magic as he had terrible coordination and memory problems afterwards, not as bad as his parents but nearly, according to Augusta Longbottom."

"Yes, alright," Alastor mumbled, ignoring the aside. "Was Barty Crouch Senior also a Death Eater?"

"Hell no! He was a paranoid schizophrenic with a persecution complex who would have loved to be a Dark Wizard but didn't have the balls to follow his heart's desire. Instead, he decided to punish anyone who had the intestinal fortitude to do what he was unable to do. Why do you think he authorised the Aurors to use Unforgivables? Wish fulfilment, no more, no less. Hell, he was even weasel enough to trade his ailing wife for the son who was blackmailing him."

"And Barty Crouch Junior?" Alastor asked, fascinated by this insight into his former boss and his son but not game enough to follow the last clue.

"Oh yeah, Death Eater through and through, that one. Wanted power and position to stop his father tossing a leg across whenever he felt the need. A right twisted lot of pederasts those Crouchs, like to keep it all in the family, so to speak; gives a simple queer a bad name." Snape sniffed in disgust.

Alastor coughed. "Moving right along then," he muttered, his magic eye glancing across at the Wizengamot balcony to make a note of the very red faces there. "And our current crop of Members, what can you tell us about them?" he asked with a malicious grin.

"Oddly enough, most of them are reasonably clean. Oh, you have a few dipping the till and accepting gratuities but nothing earth shatteringly bad… yet. Runecourt Brambil drinks too much and should be more closely supervised. His junior staff are using his signature a bit too freely and quite a few dodgy property deals have gone through under his name but nothing that is going to change the course of the Wizarding world at this point. Matilba Rossi has a couple of boy toys on the side but nothing illegal. They're both of age as she has no interest in children. They are well paid and are both consenting, having signed formal contracts with her. Lucas Babcock attended some Death Eater meetings but got scared to death when he realised what being a Death Eater really meant and ran out without getting more than his toes wet, so he is pretty clean. Mind you, Sharon Sadon is trying to use that fact to blackmail him into giving up his position on the Wizengamot to her, or at least his vote on those things she wants to push through the system. Watch out for her, she has her own agenda and I'm not yet sure what it entails. Dumbledore, too, has his own agenda but it's more to do with rebuilding our world than personal aggrandisement so he is reasonably safe to let go onward. He is still addicted to bloody lemon drops. Not even near death can cure that one."

A spurt of laughter greeted that revelation, the Headmaster laughing the loudest, his students chiming in behind him. Had Severus Snape cracked a funny? Unbelievable!

"You know, this is not so much a trial as an inquiry into the inner workings of a Death Eater organisation and how it impacts and interacts with the Ministry," Hermione murmured to her husband.

"If I could be so crude, it's a bloody witch hunt," Harry muttered back in disgust.

"They aren't trying Uncle Severus as much as they are cleaning house," Draco replied heavily. "God, I hope he gets out of this without any brain damage. If they pour much more _Veritaserum_ down his throat, his major organs are going to be so far gone, recovery will take forever, and he'll be an invalid for years."

A brooding silence fell over the small group as the questions and answers continued to shock and startle the avid, titillated and oft-times horrified audience.

**oo0oo**

Moody next began a series of questions involving the time when Voldemort was dispatched from the world and all was supposedly at peace. Questions about known Death Eaters were answered, the picture of the organisation being left to wallow in a trough of ineffectuality coming to light. A word here, a letter there, and the Order of Phoenix managed to keep the remnants of Voldemort's supporters off balance and incapable of regaining lost ground in the wizarding world until the appointment of Cornelius Fudge as Minister for Magic.

"It was a mistake. We all realised it a few months after Fudge's appointment. The ineffectual facade began to wear away, showing the true man underneath," Snape mused as he continued his monologue, mostly unprompted.

"How did he change?"

"He discovered that the Minister for Magic has a lot of 'opportunities' not granted to lesser magical mortals and that he could sell those advantages to the people with money and goods. He became quite adept at brokering deals and garnering favours. There's a small island in the Caribbean with Fudge's name on it, although it didn't do him too much good in the end."

"What do you mean?" Clearwater was startled into asking.

"Have you heard from Fudge since he retired? Has anyone heard anything from him? Of course not! Shark bait has no voice and the island has a lot of sharks. One of the favourite Death Eater supporter tricks is to create a Portkey that takes you nearly all the way to your destination, then the magic simply quits; ceases to function as the passengers are dropped from a great height either into the ocean or onto land, wherever the most damage can be done to the passenger(s). Still, the damage to our government system was done and it is rather deeply entrenched. Most of the laws Fudge passed may need to be reviewed for the ramifications that are not apparent in the first reading. He had all the resources of the Ministry legal teams on his side don't forget, and anything he wanted to get passed only had to be reviewed by the relevant team."*

"You mean all our laws were deliberately corrupted?" someone shouted from the press gallery.

"Not all, but a good portion," Severus answered automatically as the Aurors hurried to remove the over-enthusiastic reporter from the ranks of the journalists.

"I think we need to close the court now," Minister Clearwater stated very deliberately. "The issues we are about to discuss seem to concern the law makers rather than the safety of the general public. To that purpose, I want the public and the press gallery cleared and closed. This interrogation can continue behind closed doors with the members of the Wizengamot as witnesses. I believe we will have the final arguments on this case presented tomorrow," the Minister announced grimly.

"Final arguments? But… but there hasn't even been first arguments yet," Vincent said in bewilderment as he followed Draco out.

"No, and there won't be, either. This is not a trial but a witch-hunt, as Harry so succinctly put it."

"But what will happen to Professor Snape?" Ginny asked quietly.

"I don't know, Ginny Girl, but they had better be very, _very_ careful," Harry said grimly as he allowed his fiancé to lead him out, ignoring the calls and questions from the reporters who had only just realised he was present and accessible to them for the first time since the Battle for Hogwarts.

**oo0oo**

Minister Constantine Clearwater sighed deeply as the last of the general public was ushered away. He knew that putting Snape on the spot was going to be harrowing but so far it had been enlightening. Still, finding that the laws they lived by were flawed was something that would impact all aspects of their world for quite a long time to come. Perhaps they needed to appoint a reviewing committee to look at the laws and see where the rot had set in. Was not the Chief Justice pushing for the removal of the Law Archives to a new and more modern building, since the original Archives were getting rather crowded. Perhaps it was time to look at that issue with a rather more urgent eye?* Still, that was for later, he had other fish to fry just now.

"Alastor, is the, er, witness fit to continue?" the Minister asked as the old Auror finished pouring yet another potion into the dark, slumped figure occupying the prisoner's chair.

"He has a fair tolerance for the potion but he should be allowed to rest soon. _Veritaserum_ has a few side-effects that are not at all desirable and Severus has some permanent organ damage from being tortured by the Death Eaters during the war."

"Very well. Let us examine the Old Families and their involvement with the Pureblood First Association, shall we?"

The financing of the realm and how the Old Families influenced what laws and mores the magical society would embrace and reject were carefully dissected under the light of Snape's comprehensive knowledge. It seemed that a lot of things they all took for granted had been bought and paid for by the old families to simply further their own schemes or bids for power. It was horrifying to think that even Grindelwald, one of the darkest wizards of their time, was still influencing the thinking of their society; that Voldemort, the creature of nightmare who haunted all their terrors, was merely a powerful echo on that same theme.

By the time the afternoon light was fading, the Wizengamot had a fair idea of just how badly infected their societies and organisations had become and how much work it was going to take to get themselves back on track. The truth was exceedingly terrifying to some of the older members who would have preferred to keep their heads in the sand as they had done for the past fifty years. But that was no longer possible.

"And what is to become of Severus Ibrim Snape? Is he a Death Eater or not? Is he to be treated like a criminal or like a hero? Have we even established where he stood in the war?" one of the back benchers asked pointedly as they decided to break for the day and reconvene on the morrow.

Clearwater sighed as he surveyed the limp, almost unresponsive creature slumped in his place in the middle of the floor. "I think, in the interests of national safety, that he should be carefully confined somewhere where he cannot be used against our institution-"

There was a concerted outcry from the Wizengamot but what members were protesting was very unclear until the Minister smashed his rock gavel down loudly enough to restore order. "Enough! The man is obviously a danger to us all and a prime target for assassination. He needs to be protected and overseen with a careful eye. Allowing him to go free is not an option at this time. I'm sorry, Albus, but we cannot just let him go, not even into your care. We must confine him for his own safety, not Azkaban, but close house arrest seems to be required."

Moody and Dumbledore protested loudly, the legal counsel setting up a clamour but to no avail, the Minister had made up his mind. Severus Snape was to be taken into protective custody, for his own good. So it was proposed, so mote it be! The smash of the gavel ended all hope.

**oo0oo**

*See 'Terry Boot, Archivist' in the 'After the Second Voldemort War' stories for what did happen when the magic finally caught up with the corruption.


	5. Chapter 5 - Let Him Go

**Disclaimer:** JK Rowling owns the characters but I have made them dance this time. No money made, no gratuities accepted except the reviews of my peers, for which I thank you.

I always answer my reviewers if they leave a name and I am always happy to chat with them over PM. Huge thanks and a great deal of gratitude as you are the reason I managed to get out of the mud and get going again.

If you have a flame to send, I suggest you do a spell check, the last couple look like they were written by a drunken kindergartener.

Another huge thanks to my BeST betas Zarathustra46 and the Wicked Bunjhny who make this lot legible and grammatically sane.

**oo0oo**

**Chapter 05 – _Let Him Go?_**

The trip down to the holding cells was something of a nightmare for Snape and his handlers. None of the attendant Aurors were quite sure if he was a prisoner or a guest and it showed in their wary movements and heightened over eagerness to pull wands in a split second. Shacklebolt clipped a number of junior ears when a hedge of wands greeted the unexpected appearance of Professor Dumbledore in the hallway. The old wizard merely raised an eyebrow, making quite a few young men and women blush furiously and remember their school days.

Nodding acknowledgement of his presence, Moody herded junior Aurors McKnight and Larapech down to the guest suites with their long, thin bundle strung between them. Oh, it would have been easier to levitate the man but his juniors needed to remember that the personal touch was much more intimate. It was far too easy to forget that their prisoners were human and therefore had some rights. Besides, personal and professional had to be separated in their minds, even in the closest of contact situations.

Dumbledore watched as the two young Auror trainees manoeuvred Severus into a room and set him down on the bunk attached to the wall. It was not a prison cell but a plain, comfortable room furnished with a bed, desk, chair and wardrobe. In some ways it was far more hospitable than some of the rooms at the Leaky Cauldron, Albus admitted to himself cautiously. Moody dismissed the juniors and made sure Snape was lying comfortably before he left also. Alone, Albus hurried over and laid a long, gnarled hand on the pale brow, clicking his tongue at the heat radiating from the Potions Master's skin.

"Oh, my boy, you are not in good condition, are you?" he mourned as he fumbled through his robes and found a potion Madam Pomfrey had given him. "Here, sit up a moment and take a sip of this, it will help you."

Severus obeyed numbly, opening his mouth and swallowing without a blink. A few moments later he seemed to shudder and grow a little more aware of his surroundings. "Albus?" he croaked and was given a glass of water for his throat.

"How are you feeling?"

"Terrible. Albus, they aren't going to let me go! You know that, don't you?"

"I will get you…"

"No, Albus, you won't be winning this one," the younger man said almost gently. "The Wizengamot cannot afford to let me go, nor are they going to send me to Azkaban. I know too much, Albus, too much to be allowed to roam free, especially if they think I will blackmail them at any time, which I could, very easily and successfully."

"Now, Severus, you know that will not…"

"Damn it, Albus, stop trying to cajole me!" Snape snapped, then started to cough, grabbing the water Albus still held. "Face facts, old man, I'm a danger to our society and if it was me on the Wizengamot, I would have me assassinated as soon as possible!"

Before Albus could reply, the door opened again and Auror Blair McGonagall brought in a tray of food, setting it down on the desk before she turned and smiled at the man she considered her uncle. "Here's lunch for the Professor, Professor Dumbledore. There's a neutralising potion too, to help with the residual effects of the _Veritaserum_ so he should drink that first. Auror Moody suggests, Sir, that you come along and have some lunch, too. I will stay with Professor Snape in case he needs anything."

"Very well, my dear, I will leave you to your duties. Severus, I will do my best, I assure you," the old man affirmed, then turned and left the cell.

McGonagall picked up the first potion and handed it to her ex-professor, rather surprised when the double strength pepper-up potion barely made a wisp of steam come from his ears, not a good sign. The next potion was basically a hang-over cure but with a larger stomach settling portion to try and minimise the damage _Veritaserum_ did to a prisoner's stomach. Snape swallowed that one too, without a blink, even though she knew it tasted utterly vile! The third potion made Severus pause before he even took a sip, those huge nostrils expanding and taking in the scent before he pulled it away and held it carefully.

"You're supposed to drink it," the girl reminded kindly.

"Really? Do you know what it is? Who prepared the tray?" he asked croakily.

"I-I got it from one of the Ministry kitchen workers and I assume Moody put the potions out for you."

"The only trouble with assumptions, Miss McGonagall, is that they turn you and me into donkeys. This potion is nick-named Mother-in-law solution, a mixture of scallia, nightshade, cobra venom and pixie toadstools. The distinct rhizome scent gives it away every time."

The young Auror blanched. "You mean it's poisonous?"

"Yes, rather, when added to a foodstuff to neutralise the smell. It can deal with a mother-in-law in a matter of moments. I am surprised it was left in the bottle as it takes on the flavour of the foodstuff as soon as it is poured, losing the mushroom odour almost instantly."

"Maybe it was just a warning? Perhaps it was meant to make you alert to the possibilities," Blair muttered to herself, her eyebrows knit in thought. Almost absently she cast _Acclaro_ over the rest of the meal, no poison alert coming to light. "Oh well, at least the rest of the food is fine."

"Yes, indeed," Severus agreed morosely.

**oo0oo**

The wave of arrests made on the strength of Snape's testimony spread, those taken into custody instantly interrogated under _Veritaserum_. All names were immediately picked up and faced with interrogation in their turn. It was amazing how far the corruption of the government reached, even in very small ways; stupid things like getting free tickets to a venue in exchange for the swift passage of a document through the morass of red tape. In large ways, it was horrifying.

"…as if it was part of the job description," Clearwater ranted as he stomped back and forth across his carpet. "If you take office, then you must take bribes or else you are not doing your job properly! Even the bloody doorman takes bribes when registering wands, damn him!"

"Not bribes, Con, just tokens of esteem. He still registers the wands honestly," Deputy-Minister Janus Rogerson muttered. "Autographs for his son and daughter cannot really constitute as bribes, Sir, not really."

Constantine Clearwater ground his teeth but did concede the point. "But what are we to do with Severus Snape? The man is a menace! We can't have that much knowledge running free outside our control and we can't toss him into Azkaban, not with the Boy-Who-Triumphed firmly in his corner, as well as Albus Dumbledore and half the senior Auror staff. It would cause a split even more detrimental than the one we now face!"

"Can't we just quietly kill him?" Rogerson suggested, pouring tea and passing his Minister a cup.

"With Albus on the job? Not a chance!"

"It is a conundrum. Usually, in cases like this in the Muggle world, they shuffle the inconvenient embarrassment off into some sort of esoteric educational position, give them assistants and secretaries who are really guards and gaolers and bury them under the mantle of academia…" The two men exchanged long, meaningful looks.

"He is a Potions Master, after all…"

"…and it wouldn't look as if he was being punished, but rewarded for his dedication to the cause, Minister."

"But would Albus go for it? Would Snape?"

"Oh, come on, you know… Hell, _everyone_ knows how much he hates teaching 'dunderheaded brats'," Janus remarked, a touch of bitterness in his tone. How well he remembered his own days under the tyranny of Severus Snape in the Potions dungeon.

"It's a beautiful solution to a sticky problem. Send him to the College of Potions Makers as a Research Fellow with a huge grant and his own facilities and he'll be in Potions heaven, never realising he is out of the public eye and well on his way to being forgotten."

"Well! That's a relief, a perfectly rounded solution." The Deputy Minister sighed and toasted his Senior Minister with his teacup. "Now we just have to sell it to the Headmaster."

**oo0oo**

Sleep came late to Severus Snape as he lay on the narrow cot in the Aurors' 'visitor's room', his glorified prison cell. The only thing that separated him from the prisoners further down the hallway was the fact the door was ajar, not locked down tight. Despite his 'lodgings', his wand had not been mentioned or returned to him. Where that had gone, he didn't know. Without it, he felt completely naked. Still, he had warm blankets and a decent meal even though the _Veritaserum_ was eating a hole in his ulcers. Hell, his ulcers had ulcers if the truth be known! He was marginally surprised that Alastor had treated him so decently, despite their differing views on various things. The old man had been a fellow professor off and on for years but they had still clashed on a lot of key issues.

He sighed and turned over, looking for a comfortable spot, the rustle of blankets all but hiding the slight hiss of the door as it was slowly pushed open. Without stiffening or even changing his breathing, Severus pricked up his ears, hearing the stealthy footsteps creeping up on him. Two yards, one yard, half a yard. He exploded upward, stringy muscles propelling his long, thin carcass at a shocking rate. The man fell back, his hood slipping to the side as the Potions Master leaped out of the bed and landed a foot on his chest. Fingers made of spring steel wrapped around his wand, plucking it from his fingers hard enough to tear skin and wrench sinew. A strangled squawk broke out as the captured wand was shoved into its owner's throat with enough power to puncture the trachea. Horror bloomed as blood flooded into his throat, choking him. Scrabbling desperately, he tried to pull the offending wood clear but the maniac above him continued to smile evilly as he coughed and gasped, gurgled and twitched. Then he was gone.

A shaft of purple hex caught Snape directly in the chest blowing him backward into the wall like a rag doll. A second spell put the Potions Master in a complete body bind as he fell helpless on the cot he had just vacated. The second attacker looked down on his careless accomplice, snorted softly, and muttered _Diffendo_ and cut his throat smoothly; finishing the work Snape had started.

"So, the great Severus Snape, brought low by a schoolboy spell, how ironic. You know, it would be so easy just to kill you as you lay there so helpless, incapable of lifting even a finger to protect yourself. No stealth, no cunning, not even the infamous wandless magic can help you now, can it?" A mad giggle, rather reminiscent of Bella's post-Azkaban efforts broke out as a wand tip pressed into Severus' forehead. "But that would be too easy, wouldn't it? Quick and over; too bad, so sad." The man stepped away in a swirl of robes before whipping back around.

"No! I have a much better idea, one that I know will bring great anguish to the headmaster, to all the so called Light fighters, damn their hides! Don't they know that this world runs on money and power, that old money is best and the most potent? Why can't they see that we have a right to control anything we can, anything we are strong enough to dominate and subjugate to our wills, be it people, circumstances or situations. We are the strongest of the strong and all should bow to us… Oh, but you would like that, wouldn't you? If your pet Aurors came in and caught me monologuing, such an easy trap to fall into when one has such a distinguished audience, captivated, so to speak. No! I have a better idea for you. They want your knowledge, all the little facts and suppositions you have collected over the years. So how about I just… take them away! You love your mind, you love your knowledge and your intelligence, without them you are as helpless as a baby, and about as useful. So, hang onto your hat, neither Occlumency nor Legilimency can save you now."

Severus was so glad he was in a total body bind or he would have whimpered in unconditional terror. The madman had hit the nail directly on the head. Snape treasured his mind, his knowledge and his learning more than any gold or jewels. If that was all taken from him he would be… nothing!

Putting the wand down, the assassin managed to prise the stopper out of a small potions vial and force his head back against the body bind. Soft-fleshed, callous-free fingers forced his head back and the thick, honey-like potion was poured into his mouth. Snape could not swallow even if he wanted to, and nearly choked to death until his assailant thought to massage his throat to make sure he swallowed reflexively. Grinning madly, the assassin was about to throw the vial away then giggled. "Oh no, no-no-no-no-no, too easy. No clues, remember, no clues! Use the spell now, wand only works with the potion, not traceable!"

The incantation was quite complex but each word stabbed directly from the wand tip on his forehead and burrowed into his brain. If he could have moved he would have arched in agony as his solid Occlumency walls began to crumble and fail under the onslaught. The elaborate castle he had built to protect his mind could not withstand the bombardment of the unknown spell that hammered relentlessly on the walls, tearing them down, exploding rooms, levelling all before it and crushing the remains to powdered dust. Severus Ibrim Snape lost consciousness as the spell rendered his brain to devastated barrenness.

**oo0oo**


	6. Chapter 6 - All Is Desolation

**Disclaimer:** JK Rowling owns the characters but I have made them dance this time. No money made, no gratuities accepted except the reviews of my peers, for which I thank you.

I always answer my reviewers if they leave a name and I am always happy to chat with them over PM. Huge thanks and a great deal of gratitude as you are the reason I managed to get out of the mud and get going again.

If you have a flame to send, I suggest you do a spell check, the last couple look like they were written by a drunken kindergartener.

Another huge thanks to my BeST betas Zarathustra46 and the Wicked Bunjhny who make this lot legible and grammatically sane.

**oo0oo**

**Chapter 06 – _All Is Desolation_**

"I have never seen anything like it! As if his brain's been wiped clean and he's retreated into a coma for his own protection."

"Never mind what you have and haven't seen; can you restore him?"

The Medi-wizard stared down his nose at the scarred and weather-beaten Auror, then sighed deeply. "I wish I could, but I can't. To restore a mind, one needs something to work with and alas, there is nothing there!"

"Get him out of here!" Alastor snarled, waving a hand at the Medi-wizard as Shacklebolt hurried the man out of the visitor's rooms that were still awash with the blood of the attacker. There had been two of them, that much was evident, but one of them had gotten clean away while the other had not been so lucky. The room recorders had been tampered with and there would be quite some hell to pay about that too, once this mess got sorted out. Snape had obviously taken down one of his attackers but the other invader had all but finished him off and no one was happy about that!

"What now, Sir?"

Yes indeed, what now? "Who is his next of kin? I know Remus was looking after him last time Snape was badly injured, but Remus seems to have disappeared, too."

"I recall Aunt Minerva saying that Headmaster Dumbledore was, because of legal reasons and greedy relatives," Blair McGonagall said quietly, stepping over the blood puddle carefully.

Sighing deeply, Alastor motioned for two Aurors to levitate Snape to St Mungo's and gave orders for them to mount a twenty-four hour guard over him; no visitors, no reporters, not even civilian Medi-wizards until Alastor said differently, _in person_! The forensic team was ordered to check the present scene, and then Alastor stumped his way to his office. His would be the distasteful job of informing the Minister and Headmaster that there had been a security breach at Auror headquarters. Alastor was clearly not looking forward to it.

**oo0oo**

Clearwater read the missive from Moody and swallowed hard. The Minister wasn't sure if he was happy or upset that the Snape "problem" had been solved even if it wasn't exactly an ideal solution. Minister Clearwater was still wondering what he should do when the Floo flared and Albus Dumbledore swept into the office, fury and thunder in his expression, raw power licking at the ceiling and walls. Wards flared and alarms sounded as the Headmaster drew himself up to his full height.

"How _dare_ you!" the Headmaster roared, vibrating the walls to the beat of his anger. "I know my boy was an embarrassment to your administration but this is far lower than I ever thought you would stoop! To destroy such a fine mind for no better reason than to stop the rot-"

"Albus Dumbledore! You will cease this tirade immediately! I am the Minister for Magic, not some scrubby schoolboy you may harangue at will!" Clearwater rose to his full height too, facing off squarely. "Do you really think that little of me, that I would do something so underhandedly? How dare _you_!"

Magic pressed against magic as the two powerful men glared at each other, then carefully backed away, both realising very quickly that this display of ire solved nothing. Each seated himself with careful dignity, aware that one false move could set off a magical confrontation that would only escalate their problem to epic proportions.

"What _happened_?" Dumbledore ground out, hardly daring to breathe, so slim was his control over his temper and his magic.

"Alastor said Snape was attacked by two men; one Snape killed, the other caught him," the Minister intoned. "The Aurors found Snape in a full body bind this morning, his mind blasted completely. Someone tampered with the recording devices so there is yet no clue but the investigators are doing what they can with what is left of Snape."

"It is convenient that no guards were on duty around Snape's cell, is it not?" said Albus tightly controlling his speech.

"He wasn't in a cell," Constantine snapped futilely. "Damn it all, we were about to clear him and let him go this morning! Here, this is the recompense we had designed for him, an honourable place in the College of Potions Makers, research grants and facilities, everything he wanted, really. I swear on my Magic, Albus, we didn't set this up to get rid of him!"

Albus rose to pace uneasily, reining in his temper as best he could. His age settled on his shoulders as sadness for Severus' predicament settled on his mind. Closing his eyes, Albus pinched the bridge of his nose and bowed his head. "My poor child; nothing in his life has ever been easy. Nothing! And just when it looked as if he might have a chance to live a little, this happens! Where is he? What have the Medi-wizards said about his condition?"

"Alastor ordered him to St Mungo's under guard; that's all we could do at this time. Our man had never seen anything like it before so he was a bit useless. Perhaps the experts at St Mungo's will be able to assist. If not, then it might mean the closed ward. It has been rebuilt and refurbished now that a Death Eater attack is no longer an issue."

Visions of the Longbottoms plagued the Headmaster as he nodded slowly. "I had better get over there and see if there is anything I can do."

"And for the record, Albus, I am truly very, very sorry," Constantine Clearwater murmured, patting the old man's shoulder. "I know you and he were very close."

"He is like a son to me, more than my own son ever was." For a few moments the Headmaster was silent as he recalled the brief time he had known his own son, taken from him by his estranged wife when the boy was only five and returned to him at his resurrection ritual by Severus, Harry, Aberforth and Remus. For a very short time Albus had learned to appreciate Roger before he was killed by Death Eaters during a raid.* "Severus did things for me that one should not ask of even a life companion and he did them with a minimum of fuss and a maximum of efficiency. He spied and lied and even killed at my command, uncomplaining, enduring and… And now this? Does it never end?" The old man sighed again and, ignoring wards, warnings and restrictions, Disapparated.

Clearwater tapped his chin thoughtfully. So that was why the Headmaster was so interested in the Snape case. Interesting!

*: See Reconstruction of a Death Eater.

**oo0oo**

"Oh, Professor Dumbledore!" The exclamation was high-pitched with shock as the Medi-wizard jumped back hurriedly. No one was supposed to be able to Apparate into St Mungo's anymore.

"Thornfeld, isn't it? Tobias Thornfeld of Ravenclaw," Albus greeted the Healer with a smile and an eye twinkle although it was truly the last thing Albus felt like doing. "I heard you had become a Medi-wizard and were doing exceptionally well in your field."

"Thank you, Sir, I am. I'm in charge of the psycho-sciences now and attempting to introduce psychology to the wizarding fraternity. It's taking a while but it is slowly happening."

"Oh, well done. I had heard about this Muggle type of mind healing and wondered if anyone was adapting it to our needs. Jolly good show. Have you examined Severus yet? Have you anything to report, good or bad?"

"Um, Professor Snape? I'm sorry, Professor Dumbledore, he is far beyond my level of expertise. Someone has used the _Obliviate_ spell in its strongest and most destructive form. When we normally cast _Obliviate_, we target very specific memories, removing the offending event and the small tendrils of that event which connect it to the rest of the memory. My obliviate involves patching the hole, and meshing the rest of the memories over the 'bald' spot, thus rendering the event as if it never happened. It's delicate and time consuming work this way using increments of power akin to a miniature artist's fine brushes applied with a delicate hand. Whoever did this obliviate came in with enough power to blow up a city block and completely destroyed everything in its path. To put it bluntly, Headmaster, Professor Snape's mind is a wasteland."

"May I see him? I am a skilled Legilimens and perhaps I might be able to recognise something. After all, I am very familiar with my child's mind when it is in its usual condition."

Healer Thornfeld blinked at this assertion, quite sure there was no familial connection between the Snapes and the Dumbledores, yet he held his peace. "Usually we don't allow relatives to try and treat their kinfolk, but in this case we would welcome your help."

Albus stared down in shock at the tightly-curled huddle on the white bed. "Why?"

Tobias coughed gently. "As soon as the body bind was removed, he curled up and no one can uncurl him; neither by spell nor physical pressure. He has locked himself into a ball and there he will stay, I'm afraid. We think Snape's last action before the _Obliviate_ spell hit was to try and protect himself, physically as well as mentally. As you can see, it didn't help, really."

Two hefty medical assistants stepped up and manoeuvred the curled man until his face was upward, quite a task as he had pressed himself tightly into his knees. Each person peeled the eyelid closest to them back to expose a small sliver of black iris pressed right at the top of the white orbit. Educated thumbs carefully rolled the nearest eyeball down until the window to the soul was in such a position as to be useful. Nodding to each other, Thornfeld and Dumbledore both incanted '_Legilimens_' and fell into the devastated brain.

Wind howled, dust tore at exposed skin and lightening flashed overhead. Both men quickly cast bubblehead charms on themselves to stop the gale snatching their breath away or the dust smothering them as they stood. Thornfeld shook his head and shrugged in a complicated movement to indicate his complete helplessness in the face of such chaos. Dumbledore spread his hands, palm down and concentrated on sending out wave upon wave of calming vibrations, not true spells, but soothing nonetheless. Slowly, a small area of peacefulness built around him, spreading reluctantly until it covered Thornfeld, too.

"This unrest cannot be good for Severus," Albus said when he could release the bubblehead charm. "We need to slow this down and dissipate the storm as a first step, don't you think?"

"Yes, of course, but I had no luck last time, certainly not like this," the healer murmured, shaking his head.

"Severus tends to be an uneasy soul at the best of times," Albus said reluctantly, sending out another blast of calming vibrations. "Now, let's see if we can ease his mind."

It took both men an eternity, or so it seemed, to settle the storm and calm the lightening but after much hard work, they were finally standing on a field of dust, under a fathomless grey dome that stretched as far as the eye could see. Very few landmarks remained and what there were consisted mainly of shattered bricks and a few small pieces of twisted metal. Of the huge castle that used to house Severus' mind, there was no trace. Shaking his head, Dumbledore leaned down to touch a bent piece of grating, heavy bars torn like paper, the jagged ends still shining with the recency of the tear. The fine dust slushed around his feet, rising a small way, then settling in his footprints as he moved; it was heavy and thick, a few glittering shards of light amongst the grey uniformity.

"There was a castle here with polished walls of white marble. There were crenulations on the top and flying buttresses to hold it up. Bastions and turrets surveyed a healthy landscape and a drawbridge guarded by a portcullis allowed limited access to the treasures inside. Three manifestations of Severus inhabited this vast edifice, Severus the body, Ibrim the soul, and Snape the mind. Now there is nothing left of my boy… nothing at all." The Headmaster turned in a full circle and slumped down to sit on what remained of a wall, his age heavy upon his shoulders.

Thornfeld bent his head and sighed too as he helped the slumped man to his feet. "At least Snape has a modicum of peace now," he counselled, helping the old man to rise, offering an arm so that they could leave the devastated landscape together. Albus nodded reluctantly and allowed himself to be led away, neither of the men looking backwards.

But… in the shadow of the shattered marble, a brighter shard glittered, and then began to pulse. As the men moved dejectedly away, the dust stirred briefly in one small area, a tiny willie-willie caught in an eddy. A second began only inches from the first, the dust reluctantly climbing the swelling spiral until a pillar of swirling grey dust and speckles of light grew to man-sized and coalesced.

The figure that resulted was thin, a skeleton in a grey robe that shimmered and solidified into unrelenting black. An ivory pale hand moved, the dust taking on a new hue as it formed a body of pale cream and blackness. Snape moved like a badly strung puppet, blinking dazedly as he looked around the greyness. Where the hell was he? Was he in hell? Staggering, he slumped onto the same piece of marble the Headmaster had just vacated, panting and exhausted, as waves of thought and feeling swept the newly-created body. He was in his own mind, spellblasted and weakened, his Occlumency walls destroyed, his very mind shattered almost beyond repair.

It was all too much to manage in one sitting and he slid under the dust, covered and hidden as he recruited his strength before going on.

**oo0oo**

The two Legilimens were helped to chairs as the orderlies laid the curled body back down again and covered him as best they could.

"As you can see, Headmaster, he is very much damaged and I do not hold out a lot of hope for him," Thornfeld said gently as he accepted the glass of water an orderly handed him.

"Yes, I see why you may think that but I must still hope that there is some chance of recovery, if only to believe in natural justice. Take care of him and see to it that no one else gets a chance to hurt him further, won't you? I will come again next week."

"Certainly, Headmaster, we'll be moving him up to the closed ward this afternoon where the staff are trained to look after comatose people."

"Very well, I will look through the library at Hogwarts and see if there are any mentions of such a spell and its reversal." The old man rose heavily and took his leave with one last long look at the man he had come to think of as a son.

**oo0oo**


	7. Chapter 7 - Recreating

**Disclaimer:** JK Rowling owns the characters but I have made them dance this time. No money made, no gratuities accepted except the reviews of my peers, for which I thank you.

I always answer my reviewers if they leave a name and I am always happy to chat with them over PM. Huge thanks and a great deal of gratitude as you are the reason I managed to get out of the mud and get going again.

If you have a flame to send, I suggest you do a spell check, the last couple look like they were written by a drunken kindergartener.

Another huge thanks to my BeST betas Zarathustra46 and the Wicked Bunjhny who make this lot legible and grammatically sane.

**oo0oo**

**Chapter 07 – _Recreating_**

Time had no meaning in the grey world; it might have been minutes, hours or days before the dust stirred again. Ibrim felt safe and warm under his blanket, the heavy softness cradling him safely. Still, an imperative niggled at the back of his mind and he sat up, the dust cascading from him in a rolling wave that spread out and finally dissipated. Where was he? What was this place? He stared up into the featureless, fathomless grey but there was no inspiration to be had in the uniform sameness. As that was a pointless effort, he turned his attention inward, probing the corners of his being very carefully. Taking stock of himself, he knew he was Ibrim, he knew he was… Ibrim… He knew he had to… do something, something important and vital to his survival. He had to... to... find the light? Yes, find the light and all would be revealed.

Rising gingerly, he glanced around and up again, studying the view or lack of it. Greyness ruled; uniform grey dust faded into lighter grey sky with no line to demarcate the horizon. The space could be feet wide, yards, or miles, there were no visual clues to help give perspective. Stretching his arms wide then high, Ibrim decided the space was not feet or even yards wide, but wider than his fingertips, which was some clue. Turning slowly, he felt a slight tug to his left and behind and turned to face that way although there was no sight or sign to give it any individuality. Shrugging, he set off, swirling the dust around his feet as he walked and watching it settle with a weight that told him the dust was fine and heavy. Occasionally larger bits of stone loomed out of the uniformity; bits of wall, it seemed. The broken masonry reminded him of… something.

"_A fortress is a target; in a war it is a placed to lay siege to, a strong point to rally around and a fixed target to batter down. A fortress will only protect when it is unassailable and whole. If one part falls, then it all falls, and the enemy has won."_

Who said that? Why did this litany stick in his mind? His mind? What was this? Was this his mind? Perhaps it was, no, perhaps not. Maybe... A glittering shard caught his eye and he swooped on it, staring down at the small fragment that stared back, a single amber eye and a lock of blond hair in a fragment of shining light. Another fragment showed another eye, bright blue with a permanent twinkle. Eyes were so important to him, weren't they? Why were they important? Windows into the soul? The gateway to the mind? Legilimency, the art of reading thoughts and feelings? Was he a Legilimencer? Was that why he collected eyes? Another fragment made him pounce, then almost shriek when two baleful red eyes glared back at him, slit pupils narrowed and furious. He tossed that shard away and it turned to dust as it hit the ground, adding more to the layer already there. More dust? The memory fragment made more of the grey, boring dust? Were these his memories he was wading through, all turned to dust and ruin? The two shards in his hand suddenly took on new and immediate importance and he carefully slipped them into his pocket just in case.

He was more careful to look for pieces of memory then, finding a simple scene of a field with rows of plants. Another shard, somewhat larger, bore a portrait of a messy haired boy with vivid green eyes staring up at him with an oddly quizzical expression. Again it was the eyes that were important, engendering a feeling of recognition. The fragment was preserved with the others in his inner pocket.

Time was meaningless and he did not know how long it was before he began to notice a faint glow in the distance. It would have been unnoticeable except for the uniformity of the rest of the pearl grey light. It was not brilliant white, just pale, dirty yellow in the greyness and he hurried forward, sweeping the dust aside with the edge of his robe to reveal a spark buried in the translucent greyness of the floor under the dust. There were words there, carved in the floor, a language that made him jerk and twitch as he read the syllables one at a time.

_Caras dak zodel nifozun_. Speak the true name. Which true name? The name of… what?

He flopped down on a conveniently placed piece of masonry and dropped his head into his hands. He was so tired, tired of walking, tired of thinking, he was just too tired!

**oo0oo**

"I am just too tired to go on at the moment, Minerva. I would dearly like to sleep for a week, perhaps hibernate and wake up when all this mess is behind me." Albus sighed deeply, glancing up at the woman who patted his shoulder in commiseration.

"I know; I know, Albus, and everyone wants a piece of you, to solve all their problems and make it all right again, but you are only human, albeit magical, and you need your rest." Minerva had never seen her friend and mentor look so close to his age as he did at that minute, round shouldered with defeat and sorrow. "Yes, you do need to regenerate and I think I have a solution," the older woman said with a mischievous smile more appropriate to one half her age. "We, you and I, are going to run away together and completely scandalise the wizarding community gossips. I have my cottage in the highlands and I suggest we simply go there and pretend the rest of the world does not exist for a whole week. I know you think it would be bad form but I think we both need the rest or you are going to start making mistakes. At this point, the wizarding world cannot afford that. Better to be missing in mildly scandalous circumstances than make a grave mistake, believe me."

It was a harsh pronouncement, but essentially true. The wizarding world was in great turmoil, half the officials proving to be corrupt or simply stupid. The last remnants of the Death Eaters were causing as much trouble as they could before being dragged into custody, while the rest of the officials dithered about, terrified to do anything in case they were seen to be doing something wrong. The world needed a strong leader and they looked to Albus Dumbledore to solve the woes of the world. He had had enough! It was his own fault, he supposed, he had trained the world to think that way during the Fudge era and Albus now supposed it was time to pay the piper. Perhaps it would be wise to bow out of the picture for a short while. Let the Minister cope for a time; get a feel of how it was to be solely responsible for the fate of thousands. Let the world totter on without him. Albus needed to sleep.

"Do you think we could?" he asked wistfully.

"Yes, I do," Minerva smiled again at his melancholy tone. Taking a pinch of Floo powder, she called for the Minister's office. "Con, Albus is tired. We are going on holiday together for a while. You have the reins. Be careful," Minerva said flatly, her long-time friend and now the Minister for Magic staring at her with a dropped jaw. "And do stop imitating a gold fish," she added acerbically as she closed the connection down.

"You are a hard woman, Minerva McGonagall," Albus said gravely, although the twinkle in his eye belied his stern expression. He rose and offered his arm with old-world dignity, the two exiting the office with Fawkes fluttering overhead like a holiday banner.

**oo0oo**

The spark had not changed; it still shed yellow light in gentle radiance through the pale grey floor of the space, as enigmatic as ever. Ibrim stared into the light, focusing himself on its steady glow. What did the inscription really mean? What true name, of what? His true name? It was… Snape, wasn't it? Or did he have another? Snape was not a name in the language used to write the inscription; perhaps he had another name, a harsher name. Did he? He patted his pockets, hearing the clink and chime of potions vials, the rubbing of cloth against cloth. The susurrations were soothing, lulling his mind into a semi-trance with the familiarity of the calming gestures. The way was opened to allow older memories to creep in through the crevices of his mind and steal softly into the forefront of his brain. He rose, eyes closed, hands held palm down as he stepped and dipped and swirled slowly, the dance of an old ritual coming naturally to his tall, graceful figure. The dust joined the dance, slithering and eddying, bending away from the hems of the robes that swept it aside with ritualistic flicks; then up into the air where it hung in ribbons, swathes and sparkling letters which he saw branded on his eyelids as they stole into his consciousness.

'_Halzas que retun znedracas las culos mit torzek ri mores lasspintdzak don._' ("I am the beginning and the being and the ending, the life and death, the dark and the light.") The words of dust were given voice and caught fire, blazing in the grey, shedding vivid rainbow shadows and hard edges to the space that expanded exponentially as suddenly the Ibrim knew the words he had to speak. '_Kezat tizic mo Tagan Zak Haztus._' ("My mother name is Tagan Zak Haztus.")

The words took on weight, absorbing the light from the spark as they sank into the ground and split it with a soundless groan.

**oo0oo**

"I don't know why we bother, with this farce," Medi-wizard trainee Mike Lonkreith muttered angrily as he forced the long, skinny arm out and unbent the fingers that resisted the movement with all their might. "Who cares if he clubs up or his tendons contract and can never move again? It's not like he was worth much to begin with, bloody Death Eater!"

"Now, Mike, keep your robes straight. He's an _ex_-Death Eater. You heard the trial verdict? Besides, we do it because Professor Dumbledore said we should and he does care, very much so." Suzie Tabbour reminded her fellow Mediworker as she worked the muscle groups of the skeletal left arm, avoiding contact with the Dark Mark as if it might bite her. Intellectually she knew the hideous Dark Mark was now nothing more than a tattoo etched by scars and ink into the sick man's skin, but emotionally it still stood for murder, mayhem and terror in the night.

"Well, he's not here now so we can duck out early, give ourselves a bit of a break," the man smirked, giving the thin wrist in his hands a vicious twist. He stiffened as something snapped under his fingers, Suzie looking up startled and shocked. Grabbing out his wand, the Medi-wizard quickly cast _Acclaro_ over the patient's wrist and winced when the diagnostic spell revealed a snapped tendon. With hurried but practiced wand movements, Lonkreith reattached the tendon and clipped it into place with a holding spell while Suzie cast a very strong healing charm to seal it back together. Staring at each other with identically guilty expressions the two medical personnel quietly slipped out, leaving the still, silent man to his own devices.

Once in the corridor, Mike Lonkreith slung an arm around the girl's shoulders and pulled her close. "So, mum's the word on that little accident then? It never happened, right?"

Suzie hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. "Don't let it happen again though, or all bets are off," she added grimly.

"You bet! Thanks, Suzie, I owe you one. Accidents do happen sometimes and least said, soonest mended, right?" Lonkreith said in knowing tones as he allowed her to pull away, her uneasiness plain to read in the strained set of her shoulders. As she turned her back on him, he simply cast _Obliviate_ over her and removed the incident from her consciousness. "So how about a butterbeer at the Leaky Cauldron to round out the shift?" he asked as if they had been discussing the topic all along.

Suzie blinked and blinked again before shaking her head. "Nah, I have some studying to do tonight, you know how Spartan Sadie likes to shock us with pop quizzes. I want to be ready as she hasn't hit us up for at least a week now," she murmured as she drifted away. "Maybe another time."

Lonkreith watched her go with a slight, malicious smile. Fate had just offered him a very nice source of amusement for his nasty little kink. Oh, life was good!

**oo0oo**

The light pulsed brightly as the plain grey floor split apart to disclose a wide, white staircase going down into the black depths. Curiously, Ibrim bent forward as torches far below lit up. A passageway was revealed, featureless white walls and plain, unadorned stair risers but nevertheless it was unguarded and reasonably well lit.

Pausing to listen, sniff and study, Ibrim stepped down cautiously, testing his weight against the step before trusting it, his wand mysteriously appearing in his hand. The spell _Lumos_ flashed though his mind, accompanied by the picture of a long-faced, black-haired woman who furtively murmured the incantation into his ear. He spoke it aloud, pleased when the tip of the ebony wand lit with a bright blue radiance so different to the yellow of the guide light or the flickering pale gold of the torches.

One step at a time, he moved deeper into the depths, caution in every line but the path was smooth and clear of obstacles, physical or magical, and as he progressed, pressed hard against one wall, the lighting brightened until it was obvious that there was nothing to be seen but more steps. Glancing back, Ibrim assured himself that the opening was still there before he stepped off the stairs and into the corridor that led away into the unknown. As he lifted his last foot off the stair, the opening above ground snapped closed, faster than he could run back up the stairs. He was trapped! He was trapped in the featureless corridor with its smooth grey walls and shadowless lighting leading deeper into the unknown.

**oo0oo**

Monitoring spells blared and warning spells fired off to various departments as all brain activity ceased, respiration fell to less than two breaths per minute and heartbeat faded to ten beats a minute. Medi-wizard specialists came from all parts of the ward to cast _enervate_ at the long, still man to no effect. Nothing worked, not _Enervate_, not _Revive_, nothing! The slow steady heart beat continued to pound out a rhythm too slow for life and too fast for death despite all the medical efforts around him. Severus Snape was… hibernating.

**oo0oo**


	8. Chapter 8 - The World as He Knows It

**Disclaimer:** JK Rowling owns the characters but I have made them dance this time. No money made, no gratuities accepted except the reviews of my peers, for which I thank you.

I always answer my reviewers if they leave a name and I am always happy to chat with them over PM. Huge thanks and a great deal of gratitude as you are the reason I managed to get out of the mud and get going again.

If you have a flame to send, I suggest you do a spell check, the last couple look like they were written by a drunken kindergartener.

Another huge thanks to my BeST betas Zarathustra46 and the Wicked Bunjhny who make this lot legible and grammatically sane.

**oo0oo**

**Chapter 08 – _The World as He Knows It_**

When Ibrim finally brought his panic under control, he quickly realised scrabbling like a wild animal at the crack in the rock was not going to do him any good. Taking deep calming breaths, he made his way carefully down the passage, wand at the ready. The blind end of the passage debouched into an office complete with desk and chair, with a letter laid squarely on the blotter addressed in a quite familiar hand.

"_If you are reading this, then it's all gone to hell above ground! So, let's get right to it, no time to lose!_

_Once you really started to study the subject of Occlumency and Legilimency, you knew that a castle was not the best form of Occlumency defence but, well, you did start out very young and this castle has served you well. Obviously, someone has put a lot of thought into destroying you and it's a good thing you built this bunker to protect as much of the important knowledge as you could."_

There was no greeting or salutation, just the blunt scribing of… The Snape? Of himself… speaking to himself. Shaking his head, Ibrim continued to read, the words coalescing behind him to form another copy of himself, not quite the same but still…

"_You couldn't gather all your memories and recollections for saving as that would have been too close to causing schizophrenia. It would have made what you were doing conspicuous but you copied and brought down all your factual knowledge for safe-keeping. If you had not been attacked, this cache would have lain dormant for as long as necessary. So, this time, when you rebuild your mind, make it into a multilevel construct. You have planned to make the view of your mind into a potions paradise, which would suit your personality and the perceived bent of your mind. Anyone entering your reconstructed mind would get lost without a knowledge of potions or you could choose to lead the person around in circles until the unfortunate was thoroughly disorientated. When you pass through the door, only you can see you all the tools and knowledge necessary to rebuild, but I suggest you re-build slowly and carefully; make it solid to last as you won't be able to recreate yourself again. Even this effort might not work; it was a long shot after all. You have already had to recreate yourself once. This is the second and final time._

_Good luck and Merlin help you! There are a few ideas you thought of earlier tacked to the wall inside, I suggest you use them!"_

As the letter finished, it crumbled but the bits did not float away. Instead, they coated the figure behind Ibrim, making it more substantial. The slight noise of an indrawn breath made Ibrim turn and gasp too, the two aspects of Ibrim Snape staring at each other for a long time. They did not need to speak; they knew who the other was, how he was, what he was, instantly, without words, and they nodded. Relieved of the burden of being the sole possessor of the will, Ibrim moved back and allowed Snape to take over the guidance of their life as he always had.

Snape accepted the burden without a flicker of strain and watched as Ibrim faded back, sinking through the floor and taking up his accustomed place near… the third's?… spine. Who was the third? He paused and Ibrim paused in his slow return to place but neither could remember. Shaking their heads, puzzled but resigned, Ibrim continued to find his resting place while Snape curiously surveyed his surroundings.

Frowning, Snape looked up and noticed a small door set high in the far wall, hidden in a corner and not at all conspicuous. He instantly knew it was the door the letter referred to, the one nobody could see except him, and his other... two?... aspects. Touching his wand to a corner or the doorframe, it opened onto a narrow, dimly-lit corridor lined with the doors and portholes familiar to Snape, the same type of construct he usually used to organise his memories. Climbing up, Snape slipped through the tiny doorway and carefully descended to the floor below. Strolling up to a porthole, he sampled a few of the nearest snippets then sighed in relief. It was nearly all there, his mind, his knowledge, his life. He was saved!

**oo0oo**

Minerva lay on her back in a patch of early blooming heather, the sun warming her belly, the very tip of her tail moving in lazy contentment, her paws folded neatly on her chest. Further down the narrow valley, Albus stood beside the fast flowing burn, a slim fly rod working the water with masterly skill. Minerva didn't think he would catch anything, wrong season for the trout to rise, but it didn't hurt to try and fly fishing could be so relaxing.

They had been at her family cottage a week and were thoroughly enjoying the complete break with the wizarding world. It hadn't been easy to make Albus let go of his cares but the crisp Highland weather and the lure of trout or even salmon in the stream had finally won him over. A wee dram at night on top of a day's worth of fresh, clean air had ensured deep, peaceful sleep and twenty years had fallen from the headmaster's shoulders.

A couple of Hogwarts house-elves assisted her one elderly family house-elf in caring for their needs and cooking for them as necessary. The house-elves even did the shopping, bringing the groceries in from Hogwarts every morning. Minerva had discretely told them to leave the newspapers, particularly the _Daily Prophet_, out of their care packages. If the wizarding world was teetering on the edge of disaster, then it would just have to do it without any help from them!

Gleeful shouts from further down the valley made Minerva spring to her paws, her tail brisling, but then she huffed in annoyance. The mad old coot capered wildly, his rod bending at an alarming angle under the weight of a beautiful brown trout. Sighing deeply, Minerva stalked down through the heather and gorse bushes knowing her peace and quiet was gone for the rest of the afternoon. She would have to listen attentively to the story of the trout that would get bigger and the fight it put up fiercer at every subsequent telling. Such was the way of men and fishermen and she would bet her last kipper snack that even the headmaster of Hogwarts wasn't immune to that particular trait. If she could have chuckled in her present form, she would have; life was good!

**oo0oo**

The Forbidden Forest was deep and dank. The stony river ran between rolling moor-covered hills. The clear blue lake was deep and mysterious. The distant mountains rose steep and jagged. The sea surf pounded the shore. The fierce sun beat down on the sand and stone strewn desert. Snape looked over the domain he had created and found it… a wonderful landscape with every habitat he could think of for perfect potions ingredients.

With single-minded determination, Snape had recalled every minute detail of the places he had visited to collect potions ingredients. The more successful the area, the finer the detail he had managed to recall. He was reasonably sure he could add more details as he visited the real areas, once he was on his feet again, but for now he was satisfied with his work. He gently waved away a butterfly from his nose and turned back to the area he was going to plant as a cultivated potions garden, something to rival the Malfoy or Hogwarts potions gardens, he decided while stalking and pacing out the beds.

The joy of creating this place was not the fact that the work was easy; it was not. The greatest joy was that it came out exactly the way he wanted it to, every single time. He didn't have to rely on gardeners, house-elves, or even nature to shape his world. He did it all with the power of his mind. Here, in this place, he truly was a God. If he wanted dragons in the mountains, then let there be dragons! If he wanted mer-folk in the lake, then there they sang. Lethifoils? Done! Nundu? Naturally! Flobberworms and night crawlers? Buckets of them!

Giggling inanely, Snape suddenly snapped his mouth shut and glared at nothing in particular. There be madness, if he wasn't careful. Perhaps he should rest a while; after all, there was no real way to tell the time. He didn't know if an hour or a day had passed since he found the treasure trove of the mind, of _his_ mind. But where to rest? He had no… And there was a cottage at the edge of the garden, a bit crude but still… Shaking his head in amazement, Snape made his way over to the stone and thatch building and pushed open the door. It was small but clean and best of all, beyond the far door, there was a bed. He sank down gratefully, more tired than he realised and was instantly asleep.

**oo0oo**

"Still no change, I'm afraid. He remains completely unresponsive to external stimuli," the Medi-wizard reported to Madam Malfoy who sat with carefully folded hands on his guest chair. Lord Malfoy continued to stare out of the window, his posture relaxed even as he gnawed on his lip.

"Have you tried playing music to him, reading a journal aloud, all the tactile stimuli?" Madam Granger-Malfoy asked again.

Tobias Thornfeld sighed, reminding himself not to lose patience. After all, a witch interested in mind healing was an unusual thing. Usually they just looked boggled and took his word at face value. "I am sure, Madam. After he slipped into the deep coma last week, we did everything we could, including some ventilation spells and heart massage charms to keep his body alive. Yet there was no mental response. Then, when his brain suddenly plunged into mad activity, we tried everything we could to awaken him without result. No outside stimulus seems to penetrate his shields which are now firmly back in place."

"So he could be getting better inside?" Draco asked from his post at the window.

"He could be... On the other hand, he could be having seizures and brain storms and we just wouldn't know."

"Surely an EEG machine could tell the difference?"

"A what?" Thornfeld was forced to ask. "Madam, the monitoring spells pick up magical activity, they don't tell you what it means. Just that it is present. They are, after all, only charms, you realise?" He hadn't meant to be so condescending but, really?

Hermione bristled. "The Muggles have EEG, electro-encephalograph machines which tell you what parts of the brain are active and how they are active. By reading the tracings, the operator can tell the difference between normal brain activity, sleep activities, and blasted seizures!" She finished at a roar, then pressed her lips firmly together. "What does Professor Dumbledore have to say on the matter?"

It was Thornfeld's turn to look grim. "Nothing. We have been unable to contact him and, if the rumours are to be credited, he has left the country on an illicit tryst with a pair of witches barely in their teens." He almost smiled as the two younger people gave him boggled looks, then burst into raucous laughter. "I know, ridiculous, really, but that's the latest rumour. Quite frankly, Professor Dumbledore is the only one capable of penetrating Professor Snape's shields. Until the Headmaster surfaces again, from wherever he has gone off to, we are at a standstill."

"Very well, we will return on Wednesday," Lord Malfoy said decisively as he straightened up. "Continue the treatment and make sure he is well cared for."

"Of course! All our patients are well cared for," Thornfeld muttered indignantly.

"Even the ex-Death Eaters?" Malfoy jibed as he escorted his wife away.

"Even them," Tobias muttered, then sighed. "Yes, even them."

**oo0oo**

The curled figure didn't react as the small bones in his finger snapped with a satisfying series of crackles. The long, thin needles forced under the same fingernails didn't elicit any reaction, either. Mike Lonkreith longed to hear him scream and beg as his brother had begged for mercy but there was no response. Even dislocating the filthy Death Eater's shoulder was an exercise in futility as the man never even flinched as the joint wetly popped. It was so satisfying to torture and maim the damned Death Eater. Of course, he had to mend all the damage before the next shift came on duty or he would lose his Medi-wizard licence which would never do. Still, the short-lived maiming did soothe a tiny fraction of the roiling fury in his soul and slaked a minute flake of the thirst for revenge Lonkreith harboured. He had managed to have three full sessions with his victim so far and had a lot worse planned for him in the future!

A noise at the door made the Medi-wizard hurriedly repair the damage to the man's hand and palm the needles from the fingernails before the healer turned a bland, smiling face on the new arrival.

"Any change?" the Medi-witch on the next shift asked as she checked the chart at the end of the bed.

"Nothing to report at all," Mike shrugged, smoothing the sheet back into place. Odd how the fingers had moved of their own accord but no alarms had gone off to say there was some magical activity starting in the patient.

"Oh well, perhaps when Professor Dumbledore returns…"

"Perhaps."

**oo0oo**

Snape looked up from the garden bed where he was tending the dandelions to see a huddle of black lying on the footpath between the beds. Curious, he wandered over and stopped in surprise. The man was a tightly curled ball of limbs and robes, his face firmly pressed into his knees, his features completely hidden by material and hair. It was indeed odd and Snape bent to give the figure a shake before he realised it was... himself.

"Severus?" he called in surprise, but there was no response. Shaking his head, he levitated the curled man up and into the cottage, lowering him to the bed and banishing his filthy robes. What had happened to Severus while he had been busy playing in his own paradise? Obviously nothing good! There were bruises and scrapes, swollen joints and half-healed bones sticking out of parchment-thin skin. "Merlin, what a mess!" Snape exclaimed as he began to treat the damaged and dying representation of his physical form, his body.

Severus had always had a knack as a Medi-wizard, knowing more about the effects his potions and spells had on each system than most healers ever began learning. Admittedly, some of his knowledge was acquired during torture sessions and through experiments that would never have been sanctioned under a sane leader, but it was good information nonetheless. Snape used the far-reaching breadth of knowledge now, to brew potions and design charms to heal and strengthen badly abused muscle and shredded sinew, to repair internal and external damage. The hands particularly worried him. As fast as Snape healed them, they became damaged again. Sometimes, even as Snape mended a fine bone, it snapped before his eyes! This was simply not acceptable!

Furious that all his hard work was being abrogated, Snape swept his wand over the whole domain, pulling wards and bindings from the very earth and the sky to wind around the curled figure on his bed. The shield sparkled and bent, then firmed and coalesced into a shining sphere of powerful protection, enclosing them both in its confines. At this, the damage ceased and Snape made a small sound of self-satisfied pleasure as he set to healing once again.

**oo0oo**

Mike Lonkreith reared back as a bubble of pure magic suddenly emanated from the patient, repelling the Medi-wizard's hands and expelling the barbed hooks he had forced into the skinny muscles of the Death Eater's forearms and biceps. The bloody chunks of meat the sadist had torn free and neatly laid out on the bedsheet vanished with a sizzle as the magical protection field flowed over, although the blood and the jagged holes in the upper arms remained raw and bloody. The protections sparkled a roiling red and black as some unknown spell seemed to taste the sheets, then edged down to the floor as the protections expanded even further, engulfing everything with a quietly ominous crackle at the interface.

Suddenly a wall hit Mike in the shoulder and he realised he had backed away as far as he could to avoid the force field that was creeping up on him at a steady pace. Edging along carefully, he almost made it to the doorway before the very edge of the bubble touched his robe's hem and the ward snapped alert, pinning him flat against the pale painted plasterboard. The protective magic crawled over him, clawing higher, stopping to dissolve the spots of blood it found on his robes before inching higher.

Whimpering softly, Mike raised his chin, terrified of what would happen when the hot tide covered his face. Would he suffocate? Would he burn? He managed one small scream before the crackling ward engulfed him, flinging the unfortunate sadist into the air, turning, tossing and pummelling him by the opposing forces of wrath!

**oo0oo**


	9. Chapter 9 - Cracking The Nut

**Disclaimer:** JK Rowling owns the characters but I have made them dance this time. No money made, no gratuities accepted except the reviews of my peers, for which I thank you.

I always answer my reviewers if they leave a name and I am always happy to chat with them over PM. Huge thanks and a great deal of gratitude as you are the reason I managed to get out of the mud and get going again.

If you have a flame to send, I suggest you do a spell check, the last couple look like they were written by a drunken kindergartener.

Another huge thanks to my BeST betas Zarathustra46 and the Wicked Bunjhny who make this lot legible and grammatically sane.

**oo0oo**

**Chapter 09 – _Cracking The Nut_**

Chaos ruled! Alarms shrieked, magical warnings flashed, and personnel ran toward the closed ward as tell-tales pointed the way. Someone was about to explode in a magical storm of uncontrolled wild power. Since there were few wizards in the closed ward and of those there, only one was powerful enough to set off so many markers, Medi-wizard Thornfeld hitched up his robes and sprinted.

Shockingly, the doorway to Professor Snape's room hummed and glittered with power, the barrier impervious to spells or physical force. Indeed, two hefty orderlies who had tried had obviously bounced off the far wall, if the dents were anything to judge by. Dimly, by screwing up his eyes, Thornfeld realised there was a second person in the room, spreadeagled in mid-air and screaming in terror as he slowly revolved above the bed.

"What happened?" Thornfeld demanded, pushing people back so he could have a closer look.

"I don't know, Sir! Mike Lonkreith was on duty. He must have been in there for about half an hour, then the whole place went mad, charms and wards springing up everywhere," Anabetha Bones replied concisely. "We tried to get in, tried to break in, but each time we were repulsed and… and then Mike started screaming. Sir, I-I think he is being torn apart in there," the woman confided in horror.

"What makes you think that, my dear?" Medi-wizard Thornfeld asked, then ducked as screams and gagging sounds came from all around him.

A missile had come through the warding on the door, showering the audience huddled outside the door with blood as the missile hit the far wall then drop to lay in the corridor accusingly.

"Holy Fuck! Its Mike's arm!" an anonymous voice yelped, then the smell of vomit triggered someone else into retching.

"We have to get in there before Mike is torn to bits! Can we send for the Aurors or…"

"Move back," an aristocratic voice said harshly, as four people breasted the tide of humanity, pushing them all aside. Waves of whispers broke out as Lord Malfoy, Lady Malfoy, Harry Potter, and Ginny Weasley suddenly arrived, dominating the crowd and silencing comments without effort. "Healer Thornfeld, what is going on here?"

"We don't know, my Lord. We really don't know and we can't get in…"

"Looks like someone annoyed Professor Snape a bit too much," Ginny said flatly, stirring the mangled arm with the toe of her shoe. She murmured something to The-Man-Who-Triumphed, who promptly slapped a hand over his mouth but those closest thought it was to stop a laugh escaping.

"Want to take a crack at it, Draco?" Harry Potter asked conversationally, only a slight wobble in his voice.

Malfoy grunted and held up a hand, pressing it toward the sparkling screen. He yelped when a fat spark threw his hand away, his wife steadying his balance. "I'm afraid Uncle Severus' magic is beyond angry, right up into murderous. I can't put enough force into my signature to even crack through his fury, never mind be recognised."

"Here, let's see if I can give you a power boost," Harry replied, offering his hand.

Malfoy wrapped his fingers between Potter's sturdy brown ones and together they pressed against the barrier, Harry feeding power into Draco's aura until it impinged on the furious wizard wrapped in the warding shields. Something deep in Snape's psyche finally registered the presence of his Godson and the furious magical activity ceased. The badly damaged body of the medical orderly crashed to the floor with a soggy thump as the wards and weavings collapsed, and the wild magic whipping past the entering wizards re-absorbed into the still figure on the bed.

Tobias Thornfeld hurried forward to check the body on the floor, letting out a sigh of relief as he found a pulse. Signalling two orderlies forward to bring in a stretcher, he had Mike Lonkreith quickly whisked away to have his arm reattached as soon as possible. Thornfield was about to follow the stretcher when he was arrested by a furious snarl near the bedside.

"What is the meaning of this? Who brought Graybarge's Ripping Hooks into a respectable hospital? They are torture instruments of the Blackest Magical kind! There is blood all over the sheets! And pieces of meat missing from Severus' arms. Why is my Godfather's shoulder dislocated? And why are all his fingers broken? Is there a reason there is a needle stuck in his eye?"

"What?" The exclamation came from a number of throats as the Medi-wizards tried to get closer to the patient. Thornfeld pushed the lesser lights away as he bent to examine the patient, an exclamation of disgust breaking out.

"Please, clear the room now!" he commanded, the medical personnel moving away reluctantly while the four civilians stayed put. "Please, I need to do some repair work immediately."

"Then do so, but we are not leaving Uncle Severus alone and unguarded. It is obvious that he is not safe here under your so-called _care_!" Hermione hissed. "I would suggest you get on with it while I make a few Floo calls. No, Draco, you stay here in case Professor Snape wakens, I'll rouse the troops!" Spinning with a flounce, hair bouncing wildly, Hermione marched off to make a few calls and arrange for guards to look after the professor around the clock from henceforth. She was sure most of Snape's Slytherins would come to her call, as well as the Order and quite a few Aurors.

**oo0oo**

It should have been relatively easy to fix a few broken bones; realign the fragments, pour in the Skele-gro and voila! But it wasn't. Every time Thornfeld approached the curled figure, the wards flared and the shielding spells repelled everything from a simple _Acclaro_ to a bone realigning spell. Morecombe from Magical Accidents and Harold Spencer from Orthopaedics both came to consult and were also repulsed, Spencer so dramatically that he ended up in his own ward being treated by his own team. Morecombe fared a little better, being more used to ducking the unexpected magical discharges that his patients intermittently gave off.

"Snape is extremely powerful and quite frankly, the only way you will be able to reach him is to knock him out. To do that, you first have to reach him. Sucks to be you," Pollex Morecombe added mischievously, before ducking out of the ward.

"If that man wasn't so good at his job…" Thornfeld broke off his tirade as the four people remaining in the room refocussed their attention on him. "I wonder if it would do any good to have one of you break through his defences."

"I suppose I could do it, but he might resent my intrusion," Harry said dubiously.

"We simply have to get in to get any sense out of him, so I fear we must take that chance," Tobias Thornfeld replied still trying to penetrate the shielding. Thornfield knew exactly when The-Boy-Who-Lived grasped Snape's shoulder, the flood of power intoxicating as it bent around the healer adding itself to his spell. It was amazing how adaptable Harry Potter's magic was, not forcing but strengthening as if it was made just to fit to his. Any wizard who was this good at sharing had to be a very good person indeed; else a fool.

They broke through the barrier, not into a wasteland as Thornfeld had expected but a landscape rich in detail and content, the ripe smell of growing things assaulting their nostrils as they followed a path worn into the grass. The path led to a perfectly cultivated garden surrounded by mature trees and framing a small but neat cottage in the background. A hammock slung between two of the trees held the curled black figure they had expected to find. However, a second, black-clad figure, exactly the same but upright and obviously armed, stood amidst the garden's bounty, and glared at them.

"Professor Snape?" Medi-Wizard Thornfeld asked tentatively.

"Who the Devil are you and what are you doing in my garden?" the professor snarled, wand never wavering from their heads.

"It's me, Harry Potter, Sir, we had to get through your shielding to treat you," Harry offered quietly, making sure the man in black could see him properly. Potter's sight had not returned even here in Snape's head but Potter could work out where he was by the direction Snape's voice came from.

"Who?"

That was a surprise!

Potter spluttered and stammered an explanation, until Healer Thornfeld decided to take the initiative. "Professor Snape, you realise this is your mind and you are trapped inside it?" he stated, more than asked, deciding to take a more aggressive stance in the explanation.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Snape turned away dismissively and began to nip heads off the Snapdragons, carefully putting them into his basket. One or two tried to bite him and one even set his glove on fire, but he barely stopped his activities to put the spark out.

Tobias Thornfeld shook his head in amazement and strode over to the curled figure on the hammock, bending to take his pulse and cast _Acclaro_ over him to ascertain the damage. Snape roared almost as loudly as his patch of Snapdragons as he raced toward the healer. As he brushed past Harry, the young man managed to latch onto one flailing arm and dug in his heels to stop the professor's headlong rush.

"No, he's a healer, let him help you!" Harry yelled even as Snape demanded he let go immediately, the two standing toe to toe in the middle of a fine crop of bleeding hearts.

Snape began to put up a real fight and Harry threw his arms around the man's waist, lifting him off his feet and body slamming him to the ground. It was wrestling move Terry Boot had shown them many years back and it worked well, even though landing on Snape was like landing on a bag of baseball bats which all fought back. Harry caught an elbow in the eye and a forehead to the nose; Snape cursing and swearing like there was no tomorrow. For a second the younger man saw stars and wondered where his professor had learned to fight so dirty, especially when he caught a knee in the thigh and just knew Snape was trying for a little to the left.

"Bugger this!" Potter exclaimed and punched his ex-professor in the head, actually trying to fight back rather than just smother his efforts to escape.

Wizards did not fight physically very often but this was truly liberating, Snape decided, bucking the smaller man off and blocking his punch while sending his own bony knuckles forward with good intent to smear the nearest cheek. Very liberating but… painful! Snape grunted when he caught a right in the belly and for a moment failed to breathe. Snape wasn't sure how long they tussled in the dirt until both finally flopped back exhausted, covered in their own blood and that from the Bleeding Hearts they had ruined. Still, the sacrifice had been worth it.

"Are… you ready… to listen to… reason, now…" Harry panted, leaning up on one elbow and blinking hard as something dripped into his eyes, probably blood, he thought with a grimace; who would have thought Snape had such a good left cross?

"What reason?" the supercilious tone lost none of its knifelike sarcasm even through pained panting.

"Look, if you could perform Legilimency on me, it would be quicker but I don't know if you can. My eyes got damaged by the Elemental that split the fragment of Riddle out of my soul," Potter added with a matter-of-fact calm that he had worked terrifically hard to perfect.

"Did it now? Interesting. You probably offered it anything it wanted in return for its help, now didn't you? Foolish boy! You're lucky it only took your sight and not your life. Probably took the spare soul fragment too, if truth be told. Greedy things, Elementals, nearly as bad as their cousins the Daemons," Snape told him, licking his knuckles where they bled quite freely. "So, you are willing to let a complete stranger into your head just to prove a point?"

"But you aren't a complete stranger," Harry told him softly. "I have been your student in Potions for seven years, your student in Occlumency and Legilimency for one year and your comrade in arms for two years. We fought against Riddle as part of the Light and we won - at a terrible cost - but we still won in the long run. You were injured and so was I. I am getting better but there was an accident and you were taken to Azkaban, although nobody knows how or why. We thought the Dementors got you but no, you survived all that right up until someone tried to kill your mind but it looks like you have lucked out on that too. You know, Sir, you are either the luckiest bastard in the world or the most unlucky. Sometimes it's hard to tell, isn't it?"

Snape barked a bitter laugh. "Yes, sometimes it is very hard to tell. So, if I take your word as gospel, I am existing in my own mind and so are both you and yon healer. Therefore, if I perform Legilimency on you, then I will cause a feed-back loop and blast us all out of here, is that correct?"

Harry's mouth fell open. "Would it? Wow! See why we need you awake and whole? You're good at this stuff."

"Flattery will get you… a little way," Snape added unexpectedly, surprising a laugh out of Harry as he felt a firm hand grab his and haul him to his feet. "Very well, there is a way but I am going to have to enter your mind and use your own strength and power to pull you into my mind to use my knowledge to complete the spell. It's not easy but it is possible, if you are willing to cooperate fully."

"Anything," Harry agreed and bit his lip when Snape made a rude noise, muttering something about one being born every minute. He heard the beginning of the spell then almost cried out in terror as light flooded into his brain and he saw a bruised and bloody face before him, black hair a wild tangle, grey, featureless eyeballs staring into nothing. It was then supplanted by a long, bony, equally bloody face topped by lank hair and jet black eyes that burned with the intense light of concentration. Other things flashed through Harry's mind, glimpses of memories and fragments of feeling as something or someone rummaged through his memory. Before he could protest, the feeling was gone and the light became even brighter as another spell was spoken.

For a long instant, Harry was Severus Ibrim Snape, knew every thought and feeling in the mind before him, then it all exploded in a blast of mixed sound, colour, light, taste, and feeling. It was all too much and his mind shut down into blackness in seconds.

**oo0oo**


	10. Chapter 10 - Planning A Revival

**Disclaimer:** JK Rowling owns the characters but I have made them dance this time. No money made, no gratuities accepted except the reviews of my peers, for which I thank you.

I always answer my reviewers if they leave a name and I am always happy to chat with them over PM. Huge thanks and a great deal of gratitude as you are the reason I managed to get out of the mud and get going again.

If you have a flame to send, I suggest you do a spell check, the last couple look like they were written by a drunken kindergartener.

Another huge thanks to my BeST betas Zarathustra46 and the Wicked Bunjhny who make this lot legible and grammatically sane.

**oo0oo**

**Chapter 10 – _Planning A Revival_**

The explosion of magic was horrendous, tossing the healer and the Man-Who-Conquered away from the still figure on the bed. Even the patient was affected, the body convulsing and straightening to rise a foot off the bed before flopping bonelessly back onto the mattress. Tobias Thornfeld was lucky; he landed on a pile of his colleagues, which cushioned his fall. Potter was not so lucky, slapping back first into the wall and sliding down like a classic cartoon character to lie in a still puddle of robes on the floor.

Scrambling to his feet, Medi-wizard Thornfeld hurried over to his patient on the bed and sighed in relief upon finding him limp instead of tightly curled, even though completely unconscious as before. Thornfeld's _Acclaro_ spell showed a deep hum of magic still, but without the jagged hills and hollows that spoke of disturbed biorhythms and distorted core magic. The man was not out of the woods yet but at least now there was a possible chance at recovery.

An exclamation from his right made Thornfeld look up as Healer Toppham who had rushed in to check over Harry Potter, now called for assistance. Seems Potter had sustained a cracked clavicle and skull from his impact with the wall. Spencer from Orthopaedics being out of action, also due to his collision with a wall, meant that Thornfeld's second-in-command, Medi-wizard Loringham, had to be called in to see to Potter's healing. Miss Weasley held a quick consultation with Lord Malfoy before she would allow the assistant healers to conjure a stretcher and move the new patient to the orthopaedics ward where Skele-Gro and splinting spells could be properly administered.

"Well? How is my Uncle progressing?" Lord Malfoy demanded only seconds later, his imperious tones as sharp as cut glass.

"Hard to say, my Lord; 'better' would be the most I would venture at this point, which is not much considering how badly he was doing a few moments ago. Let us say, he is now… not dying immediately."

Draco sneered, not at all impressed with the prognosis. "And how was he so injured in the first place? He was not as badly off when he first came under your care."

"I… would rather not say at this time, Lord Malfoy, if you don't mind. There will be an inquiry and I do assure you _Veritaserum_ will be used. We are Medi-wizards after all, and take very binding and most potent oaths to only help, never injure, with our skills. If Lonkreith has warped his oaths, then I do assure you the magic will retaliate most messily and will claim a price… a huge one."

"And will that be soon enough to undo the damage he has done to my Godfather?"

Tobias Thornfeld opened his mouth to provide a glib answer, then abruptly closed it and sighed deeply. "No. There is no excuse or restitution for what was done here today, or anything Lonkreith has done previously; only my promise that I will personally oversee Professor Snape's treatment, and do the nursing myself."

Movement at the door revealed an enormous wizard marching in with all the unstop-ability of a troll on the move. Malfoy turned and a corner of his mouth quirked up slightly. "Vinnie," he acknowledged to the newcomer.

"Draco. I got first watch. Want me to clear the room?" the man-mountain asked in a low, rumbling voice.

"Guard Professor Snape and let no-one but this man and those of our own enter, understood?"

Crabbe bowed sharply, then crossed his arms while standing in the doorway, which he filled to capacity. Draco smiled mischievously, making Thornfeld blink at the expression. "Vinnie is doing his thick-as-a-brick muscleman act as usual. Be warned! Vinnie is not as stupid as he makes everyone believe, I do assure you. But, he is as big and as strong as he looks and will destroy anyone just because entry into the room has been made without permission."

"What about service personnel, or the kitchen staff?" Thornfeld asked worriedly.

Malfoy smirked. "'None shall pass.' With Crabbe here, that's not merely a light fancy, but a rock bottom fact. There will be a roster of guards on Professor Snape from now on, to make sure no further… _incidents_… occur."

Thornfeld bowed his head in both acknowledgement and defeat.

**oo0oo**

Harry woke to darkness…

Panic set in for a moment then reality flooded in on a tide of memory. Oh yes, darkness! It was so much blacker for the few moments of illumination he had gained from Snape; a gift, a priceless gift, but a torture most vile. Potter almost sobbed but throttled it down ruthlessly when his keen ears recognised the snuffle and gasp of someone else in the room also waking. The half-snore, half-snort was as familiar as his own breathing. Potter scrubbed his face self-consciously as Ron finally managed to awaken with a noisy yawn.

"Mornin', Harry, and welcome to another fucking _wonderful _day at St Mungo's 'health spa for war veterans and other miscellaneous inmates'!" the redhead muttered in a sleep-gravelled voice.

Harry wondered at the bitter sarcasm in his usually cheerful friend's voice, then remembered he wasn't the only one whose life had been irrevocably changed on that blasted battle field. Ron was also suffering 'war wounds'; such a sanitised euphemism for the maiming and destruction of lives and souls.

"Glad you didn't say 'good' there," Harry returned in like tones, scrubbing at his scalp and sighing deeply. "Where are we? What's it like, and what are the chances of fleeing with our lives?"

"Loan me your shoulder and I'll loan you my eyes. Then we'll have a fair chance of getting caught about three steps from the bed."

Harry laughed, Ron joining in with the sour sound of reality knocking. All of the glass in the windows suddenly exploded and the waterglass fell into powder on the nightstand making Harry jump and Ron squeak in fright before he laughed even louder. "Merlin, Harry! Overkill, much," he applauded as Medi-wizards and healers rushed into the room with wands drawn.

"Mr Potter! What have you done! Oh my goodness, you naughty boy! You've gone and broken all of the windows again!"

"Oh God, not you again!" Harry exclaimed in disgust, turning to face the voice's origin, wandlessly cast a Banishing charm.

Ron roared with genuine laughter as the woman flew backwards and scythed through her cohorts, knocking them down as effectively as Ginny did when she was degnoming the garden. "Nice one, Harry! Five for the price of one! Wish I had my wand to give you a hand but I had to leave it behind when using these crutches."

"Should have made a pocket in your pyjamas for it; only takes a quick spell. Ask Hermione. I did," Harry muttered out the side of his mouth as the Medi-wizards ultimately prevailed and the two patients were swamped with cloying concern and tender ministrations.

"How did you break your skull this time? I thought it was too thick," Ron remarked, watching as they did scans and spells on his best friend.

"Snape… and shut up before you start. Severus is really badly damaged, Ministry swears it was not them yet he ended up in here. He was mind blasted while subject to their ever so efficient management. While under the _tender care_ of the hospital, one of their medical miracles decided torturing a Death Eater would be poetic justice. Pity he picked on one of the most staunch Light supporters I have 'cus now they have the whole of the DA on guard as well as Slytherins of all ages. Woe betide any idiot who tries to interfere with the Professor this time." Harry's grin was vicious.

Ron snorted. "Bet Draco's pissed and that means Hermione will be on their case, poor buggers. Still, better them than us, eh?"

Both young men sniggered knowingly. Hermione with a cause was as bad as a dog with a bone. If they gave her someone to protect, a nesting Hungarian Horntail was a pushover in comparison.

**oo0oo**

Tobias Thornfeld was reading. Every book he could locate on the art of mind healing was piled around him; the library at St Mungo was stripped bare of texts. Unfortunately, the piles were not very large, rather skimpy, if truth be told. The number of duplicated copies made the actual useful material only about half of what he had located. It was slightly galling to find that the great experts in the field literally quoted each other's texts, papers and ideas; very little original thinking having gone into the field since 1949 when Elijah Mortempius Black had treated victims from Grindelwald's rampage. Tobias had even resorted to looking through Muggle literature, but that wasn't much help, either.

Just identifying what was happening to Severus Snape was one of the hardest things Thornfeld had ever tried to do. The man was not schizophrenic, nor was he suffering Multiple Personality Disorder even though clearly there were two or three people inside his head. The best Thornfeld could come up with was a Dissociative Disorder of a different stamp to the common Muggle or Magical kind which usually resulted from magic taking on a separate identity to the person whose core generated it.

Snape had a mental image for his physical being and also for his intellectual being. The personalities were caused by trauma, of that Thornfeld was very certain - the man had been a spy for such a long time - but which trauma had originated the various aspects he exhibited was still a mystery. Usually childhood traumas were responsible for the splits but the internal aspects were of the same physical and mental age as the current Professor Snape, instead of younger. Even more disturbing, Headmaster Dumbledore had mentioned that Professor Snape even had an identity called 'Ibrim' that was his inner person, his soul or his magic. Tobias wasn't entirely sure which was embodied in the Ibrim identity but Headmaster Dumbledore had assured him the triviume had lived happily together for more years than he had known his Potions Master. It was all very confusing but one thing was eminently clear: these manifestations of the person had to be unified or it was just... not healthy. Shuddering at the implications, Thornfeld dreaded that the three aspects would explode outward in an uncontrolled magical discharge that could rip anything in its path apart, buildings and people included.

Decision made, Healer Thornfeld chose the magical reunification process to 'put Humpty back together again' as his colleague in Mental Magics had so crudely termed it. The _Integratus_ spell gave the best chance of forging the three aspects of Snape's personality into a single unit but it was not always successful. Even when it did work, there was no guarantee which aspect of the person would be the dominant when the new entity was finally settled into place. Still, the man was in a coma. If Snape was to have any chance of waking up at all, this was the best course of action Thornfeld and his colleagues could come up with.

**oo0oo**

The Putney Arms was one of those semi-Muggle places where wizards went to get away from their troubles. If only for a little while. Medi-wizards used the booths to hold private conversations well away from the dangerously-disturbed atmosphere of St Mungo's. Tobias Thornfeld had reserved one of them for his discussion of the Snape case with Pollex Morecombe and Harold Spencer. Both men were top of their fields and rather more powerful than the average run of wizards. If they all combined their power in the ritual, it was sure to have enough impact to make it work.

"I agree that it could work... probably... but is it really necessary? I have seen no evidence in the patient of instability or magical splitting, yet," Morecombe muttered as he blew the froth off a pint of brown ale before taking a hefty swig.

"I was inside his mind with the Man-Who-Conquered. We met two of his alters, Snape and Severus. They were definitely completely separate entities, discrete and functioning with control of the different parts of the man's body, rather than his mind. Snape was the intellect and Severus was the body, thoroughly comatose, as was his body. Albus Dumbledore told me at the initial meeting that Professor Snape also had a persona for his… soul - for want of a better word – a persona that had been present since he was a child. In fact these splits had occurred in childhood and had only been reinforced with the life Snape had been forced to live due to spying for the Light…"

"And didn't that come as a shock to the general populace?" Morecombe muttered with a sly grin. All three studied the table and remembered the end of the war, the joy that warred with the horror of their times and the injuries they each had to deal with.

Harold Spencer stirred his bulk and blinked deliberately. "Makes sense though, I suppose. I always thought Snape had more balls than good sense, especially when facing off against the Marauders, bloody bullying prats those three, really living up to their chosen name. Mind you, Snape was a nasty piece of gear, too, which was probably why people believed he would easily succumb to the Dark. Very Slytherin through and through! And all that."

"After my time," Tobias dismissed impatiently, wanting to get on with it. "So, are we agreed that a Reunification Ritual should be performed on Professor Snape tomorrow, to reintegrate his three personas? Good! I personally think the _Integratus_ Spell in three parts should be used with the Ritual of Unification. What do you think?"

Pollex Morecombe nodded slowly. "Best do it in the Spell Damage Unit; we have the wards there to cope with run-away magic if anything goes wrong. What time should we start and what parts shall we each take?"

They discussed the ritual in detail far into the night, through quite a number of ales followed by dinner, then firewhiskey. By the end of the evening, Morecombe had to floo rather than Apparate and Thornfeld walked home although Spencer with his far greater bulk seemed unaffected by their deliberations.

"Be on time you chaps," Thornfeld admonished as he carefully navigated the street. Getting hammered the night before such a powerful Ritual was probably not a good idea but... too late now, he decided as he prepared to apparate. The other two simply grunted as they went their separate ways.

**oo0oo**


	11. Chapter 11 - The Joining

**Disclaimer:** JK Rowling owns the characters but I have made them dance this time. No money made, no gratuities accepted except the reviews of my peers, for which I thank you.

I always answer my reviewers if they leave a name and I am always happy to chat with them over PM. Huge thanks and a great deal of gratitude as you are the reason I managed to get out of the mud and get going again.

If you have a flame to send, I suggest you do a spell check, the last couple look like they were written by a drunken kindergartener.

Another huge thanks to my BeST betas Zarathustra46 and the Wicked Bunjhny who make this lot legible and grammatically sane.

**oo0oo**

**Chapter 11 – _The Joining_**

Severus was uncurling, that was a given. Even lying in the hammock, he didn't look quite so hunched and fragile anymore. Nodding to himself, Snape carefully gathered his alter up and carried him into the cottage they inhabited. He would be reasonably safe in the bed there.

Once the physical aspect of Severus' person was settled and wrapped up snugly, Snape went through to the kitchen and made a pot of tea almost by remote control, his mind completely occupied by the words that strange fellow, Harry Potter, had said to him. Stupid boy had offered him '_anything_'. Him, Snape! Mad, completely barking… and yet… Was Snape really existing inside his mind, was he actually his own mind? It was a very unsettling thought, one that could lead to a circular path and eventually to the disintegration of cohesion.

He drank his tea. The simple act of lifting the scalding hot liquid to his lips and inhaling the musty odour of Black Russian Caravan made his scuttling thoughts pause and settle. To approach the problem logically he had to remember a few occurrences, such as the null time when everything was grey and uniform. Then there was the light, a single point of light that led him to knowledge and creation. The storehouse of knowledge under his feet had been disguised by the tall trees he had made at the edge of his property. Made? Didn't he mean _grown_? But no, he really did _make_ them… brought them into existence by his will alone, now that he thought about it. Maybe the boy was right; maybe he was inside his own mind.

Closing his eyes, he focussed, then smiled slightly as Ibrim took the seat opposite and folded his hands on the age polished wood. "Good of you to come," Snape murmured, offering tea yet knowing it would be declined.

"What can I help you with, Snape?" Ibrim asked, a Dumbledoresque smile gracing his lips and an all too familiar twinkle in his eyes.

Snape rolled his eyes and sighed. It was sort of inevitable that his friend, mentor and surrogate father would influence him in some ways. Thank goodness it was only in a divorced way, not something outward and overt! "I have to go and seek more knowledge in the vault. Severus has been badly injured again and I need you to keep an eye on him while I am away."

"Very well. Do you want me to treat him in any way?"

"See if you can get him to wake and make him happier. That should help."

Ibrim nodded serenely as Snape rose and pulled his robes straight. Ibrim annoyed the hell out of him at times but he was good for babysitting, all kindness and calming influence, damn it. Sometimes that was exactly what was needed Snape acknowledged ruefully as he strode off through the garden and headed for the staircase he had hidden in the roots of a gnarled old oak tree. He sincerely hoped the repository of knowledge would have some information on what had happened to him, who Potter was, and how he had ended up in his own mind without realising it.

**oo0oo**

Morecombe and Thornfeld looked slightly seedy to Spencer as they assembled in Morecombe's office the next morning, the lightweights. Spencer teased them gently as they both consumed Sobriety potions and gagged at the horrendous taste. But the potions worked their magic and within ten minutes both wizards were ready to begin the preparations. Fortunately, the preparations were neither lengthy nor arduous, just a plain wooden platform was needed to hold the victim. The platform had to be encircled and encased in chalk dust and powdered moonstone wards. Finally, there had to be three wands, one for each aspect of the personality that needed integration.

After a lot of drunken teasing, it had been decided that Spencer would be the body as he had the most weight to toss around. Morecombe would tackle the spirit since he was more playful and light-hearted than the other two. Thornfeld was given the mind, his speciality. He was supposed to be brainier than the other two, or so they teased him. Because Professor Snape was a genuine protégé, although none of them wanted to admit it, and simply brilliant, they decided it would be easier to tackle the melding of spirit and body first; then all three would concentrate on the mind. The ritual would be slightly lop-sided this way, but on the whole, it was the safest way to go.

Of course, getting Snape out of his own room was the first order of business and that was a challenge in itself as the man now had a roster of guards hanging around his door, obstructing normal services and pointedly questioning anyone who wanted to enter the Professor's room, with attitudes of heightened suspicions and distrust. This morning it was Kingsley Shacklebolt on duty, his red Auror's robes lending him a unique authority amongst the usual rag-tag rabble of guards. He glared at the attendants who brought a stretcher in to carry the Professor up to the Spell Damage ward, wanting to know by whose authority they were doing the transfer.

"By mine, Medi-wizard 'in charge of this case' Thornfeld!" Tobias was forced to snarl at the finish. "Do you want this man to get better or are you content to have him languishing in a coma for the rest of eternity?" Thornfeld glared. "Well then, stop obstructing my staff and allow us to know more about medical treatments of patients than an _Auror_!"

While Shacklebolt didn't wilt under the barrage of sarcasm, he did have the courtesy to step aside but even so, he decided to send a message out as he watched the hovering stretcher move down the corridor to the lifts, the Medi-wizard in charge stomping angrily at its side.

Thornfeld was still huffing and cursing as they made their way to the annex outside the Janus Thackery ward. They manoeuvred the stretcher into the warded and secure treatment room where his colleagues waited. Everything needed for the Ritual was ready, the usual central operating table exchanged for a spell-free wooden one. Morecombe had already placed the necessary candles in their Ritualistic holders at the cardinal points. Spencer, with his steady and experienced hand, had drawn the chalk lines to contain their workings with the standard number two Moonstone and Dover Chalk powder St Mungo's kept on hand for just such occasions. The standard operating arena wards were in place ready to be triggered as soon as the patient was settled on the central bier.

Slipping on a sterile and magic-neutralised working robe, Thornfeld took his place at the head of the wooden platform. The well-trained Spell Damage witches laid their patient out carefully with his head pointing north, his hands crossed lightly on his magical core*, and legs slightly spread apart, as the ritual called for. Thornfeld gently placed his hands on both sides of Snape's head, fingers fanned out over temples and skull, ready to hold on and keep Snape's head steady if it became necessary. Morecombe placed his hands on either side of the Professor's ribs, near his heart, and Spencer took a firm grip on his thighs from the opposite side of the table. Often patients bucked hard so a good solid hold was absolutely critical in these rituals. An attendant closed the chalk circle around the magic procedure and shut the door on his way out. The wards sprang into place as the three men began the Reunification Ritual to bring Professor Snape back into the world of the conscious as a whole being… or so they hoped.

**oo0oo**

Ibrim moved into the second part of the construction Snape had designated a cottage. Snape's constructions were always much more elaborate than the lattices Ibrim would construct if left to himself. It was amusing that both Snape and Severus had to make analogues of the physical world here in their mind to be comfortable inhabiting it. Severus, who was partially Snape's representative construction of his physical self, partially Severus' own self-image, and Ibrim's rationalisation, was still snugly wrapped in a bundle of protective wards Snape had layered over him. Yet Severus' awareness opened as Ibrim approached. It took a few moments to coax the aspect out and into the larger part of the construct where Severus could become more aware of himself and the surroundings.

After a few minutes, the cottage construct firmed and took on a more substantial life as Severus became more aware and understanding of where they were. He blinked, then blinked again and tentatively smiled at the filmy representation of the soul they all shared. It too had firmed and had become closer to a real person, and less like a lacy ghost of greys and space. Neither aspect bothered with words, knowing or feeling, rather sharing a bond that did not rely on the absolute definition Snape insisted on giving everything. Ibrim offered '_sustenance'_; Severus accepted '_tea'_ and both sat at the '_table'_ in a contented silence.

"I was hurt, Snape came and got me," Severus finally spoke aloud, very unusual for the body representative.

Ibrim nodded. "Snape tasked me to watch over you while he was away in the deeper levels."

"Oh."

Comfortable silence ruled for a time, then Severus began to fidget for a few moments. Finally he straightened, glancing about uneasily. "Do you feel that? Someone is calling me. It's not Snape."

Ibrim blinked and frowned slightly but could detect no differences in the surroundings. He shrugged lightly but Severus was soon on his feet pacing and peering out the windows, wringing his hands and darting his head about nervously. "Something... Someone is calling and I don't know who it is! It's not Snape. Where is _Snape_? I want him! He knows about things, lots of things, not like... I... I'm frightened, Ibrim."

"Hush, Severus, it will be alright," the spirit began to soothe but the body would not relax or stand still, jiggling from one foot to the other ever more rapidly, as he had when they were children.

"Is He coming, or Her?" Severus finally asked in a very small, child-like voice, the whole aspect shrinking and de-aging before Ibrim's eyes.

"No, our father is dead, as is Lord Voldemort. Our Grandmother is just a malicious echo of a ghost now, so we are safe from them, or so Snape assures us," Ibrim reassured him, attempting to coax Severus to seat himself at the table once again to take additional tea.

Severus began to twitch and shiver, the tea slopping over his hands without regard. "Is it Snape calling us?"

"No, not Snape and yes..." He paused to peer into the shadows of the cottage construction warily, uneasily. "I feel it now. It's as if we were being Summoned by someone… but who would summon us?" Ibrim looked up, then down cautiously as if trying to determine the direction of the subtle, silent call.

"I don't like it. It's not right,' Severus said suddenly, rising so abruptly, he overset the chair and made the cups rattle… or did he?

There was a subtle vibration travelling through the space they inhabited, causing the whole of the constructed environment to shudder rhythmically, the walls and floor rolling to the pulse. Ibrim rose too, glancing at his counterpart who somehow seemed to be growing more substantial to his eyes; oddly so as if powered by something outside himself. Severus was not happy about this renewed vigour, his expression pained and fearful as he reached out a hand.

Unthinkingly, Ibrim caught the long, thin fingers identical to his own, clutching the hand in tight comfort but then found he could not let go. His hand was slowly melding into Severus' fingers, merging together but not aligned properly, and it hurt! Severus began to make high, whimpering noises, trying to free himself. His eyes darted about wildly looking for escape but found he could not move from the spot as Ibrim was dragged toward him, the table no obstruction as the spirit was pulled through it.

The whimpers turned into a fearful chant of 'no, no, no' as the two aspects were forced together. Unfortunately the misalignment only got worse as chest was forced to merge into chest, the two bodies mirror reversed. Ibrim managed to resist the horrible melting sensation for a few seconds, long enough to whisper reassurance to his counterpart. "Don't fear it, Severus, we will always be together, we are one and the same, we always have been and now we will be one whole of two parts; relax, fear not. Please! Fear not, my lad."

They merged back to front and clashed, then shuddered and twisted as they tried to align themselves comfortably within the confines of the one body space. It was not easy, almost impossible, as the chant was now deafening and booming in the space, forcing the bonding with uncompromising brute strength. Severus screamed as the misaligned parts of himself tried to compromise but was given no space to come about and turn for a better fit. It was a hideously cruel thing to do to anyone but there was no escape from the force that bludgeoned them together and welded them into a mismatched conglomerate that had no way to manoeuvre.

Ibrim tried to shift into a better fit but the smallest twitch simply made the outside force tighten its grip and inflict even more damage. Realising he had only one way to protect Severus with all that he had, he sent a wave of comfort through to the twisted body they now both inhabited and simply closed his metaphysical eyes. He shut his conscious 'self' down leaving Severus alone in the binding space, freeing him from the crushing forces that were threatening to destroy him forever.

Severus howled in terror as Ibrim ceased to exist.

**oo0oo**

Harold Spencer gasped and panted; his part of the chant more a test of brute strength as he held the body down except the thighs, Spencer's magic being the anchor for the other two participants. The Ritual had begun easily enough, all three of them chanting the first stanza in chorus.

_Integro haec terci, spiritus, intellect et corporis. Decoquo ea acc metempsychis, acc unicum corpus. ↕ _

Each repeat built on the previous one until a ball of undefined magic had been gathered over the patient's core. Then, to place it in the best possible position, Spencer had left the chorus to begin his own line of the Ritual.

_Conligare corporis. Fingo demonst acc solidissimus sola integratus._

As Spencer spoke his line, the ball of magic spread over the patient's body, highlighting the chakra points and the main magical channels, making them starkly visible to the naked eye. His own magic reinforced the spell until it was pulsing and growing in time to the Chant as it should. Spencer's magic was the anchoring of the whole Ritual and as soon as he stabilised Snape's body as his part in the Ritual dictated, he began repeating the two lines of the Ritual one after the other to keep the Chant going and keep the body's magic stable and solid. When he had the magic perfectly balanced, he nodded without missing a beat and Morecombe shot him a twisted little smile as Morecombe broke his rhythm to begin his part of the ritual.

Pollex Morecombe began to chant his line of the Ritual.

_Conligare Spiritus. Fingo demonst acc solidissimus sola integratus._

Morecombe's part was to call to the spiritual part of the patient and integrate it into the body. This was not exactly the hardest part of the Ritual; this part would be relatively easy as Spencer was a solid anchor and their magic was quite complimentary. Also, and although none of them had mentioned it, Professor Snape's spirit was probably pretty pathetic, not a strong or particularly upright part of the man. After all, he was an ex-Death Eater and Death Eaters were definitely low on the spiritual life side of the scale. Still, as Morecombe chanted, he felt resistance growing, more than any of them expected. Surprised, he tightened his Chant and made sure his accent was as pure as he knew how to make it, then began putting real effort into his Ritualistic part.

Thornfeld raised a questioning eyebrow when he felt the chant begin to judder and jerk, the spirit resisting the push into the body, fighting madly like a small animal caught in a trapIt was now too late to stop and reconsider their approach. Finally, after a number of attempts to escape, the two parts of the whole meshed and settled. Morecombe modified his part of the ritual, joining in the first line with Spenser and repeating his own line when Spencer said his, thus reinforcing the body anchor and keeping the two parts together. Now came the hardest part as they all knew Professor Snape's mind was the strength and force that had driven the man to greater and greater heights all his life. Integrating mind and body was not going to be so easy, that was a given!

Figuratively girding his loins, Thornfeld waited until Morecombe was properly settled into the holding chant before Thornfeld began his own part of the Ritual.

_Conligare Intellect. Fingo demonst acc solidissimus sola integratus._

**oo0oo**

**Author's notes:**

*Magical Core placement - I always thought the magical core would be pretty much where the Chinese feel the 'dantien' is located, below the diaphragm and stomach, and above the bladder. (The Wicked Bunjhny tells me it's called the dan tien and is located two finger widths, index and middle fingers together, below the belly button.)

Yes, yes, I know, MORE RITUALS!. I like rituals; we all live by rituals, whether they're something simple like 'take a deep breath before you open a door onto a difficult situation' or something as complicated as how you prepare for bed to guarantee a good night's sleep. People need rituals and habits to get them through the minefields we call our normal day!

↕ _**Integratus Spell**_

**English**:

Integrate these three, spirit, mind and body. Fuse them into a soul-migration, a single body.

Part One: Unite Body. Integrate them into an unbroken single whole. (Spencer's part)

Part Two: Unite Spirit. Integrate them into an unbroken single whole. (Morecombe)

Part Three: Unite Mind. Integrate them into an unbroken single whole. (Thornfeld)

**Latin:**

_Integro haec terci, spiritus, intellect et corporis. Decoquo ea acc metempsychis, acc unicum corpus. _

Part One: _Conligare corporis. Fingo demonst acc solidissimus sola integrat__u__s._

Part Two: _Conligare Spiritus. Fingo demonst acc solidissimus sola integrat__u__s._

Part Three: _Conligare Intellect. Fingo demonst acc solidissimus sola integrat__u__s._

It's rough but honestly the best I could do. Thank you Words by William Whitaker

**oo0oo**


End file.
